PS 2459 
.N2N7 



LIBRARY 





« O > 








' h^ 



^1 
•1< 




















0. 



./"-^ 













* .0 •^. '>^l^SSS^/ .,h 




■.% 




"V.^*^ • 








3^1 



NOTES OF 

A PROFESSIONAL 

EXILE 




BADEN-BADEN. 



NOTES 

OF A 

PROFESSIONAL 
EXILE 



E. S.^ADAL 



AUTHOR OF 

impressions of london social life ' 
"essays at home and elsewhere" 

ETC., ETC. 




NEW Ybl^*ASH«>$ 



THE CENTURY CO. , ^ 

,895 d^^^f^ 



N^ 



.-> 



Copyright, 1895, by 
The Century Co. 



li-3(of(fi/ 



THE DEVINNE PRESS. 



DEDICA TION 

As a child honesty, authority, 
and a disposition to be siletit were 
your characteristics — the expres- 
sion of the delicate conntenance 
atid Jignre being thonghtfnl, di- 
rect, a little stern, and above ev- 
ery th ing n ice. A II felt the force 
of these qualities, and people who 
watched yotir gesttires, move- 
ments, and especially your quiet 
attitudes, found you exquisitely 
attractive. But to those of us 
exposed daily to the inftueiice of 
these traits, they existed with a 
comic charm that incited to violent 
manifestations, which yoii were 
swift to punish. Now a young lady 
g7'own, your life for some years 
past has been with the se? vices of 
the church j coitent with the lilies 
and the azaleas on the altar, the 
incense and the lights that shine 
like stars in the darkened temple 



which is the place of your chief 
affection. A tranquil, still thought- 
ful, expression has replaced the 
rather more intense one of child- 
hood. There is a slight figure^ 
somewhat tall, and there are graces 
of form and co7intenance ; but these 
qualities, of which we think so 
highly, are what they are because 
of the delicate and pervading soul 
that possesses them, just as the rich 
coils of abundant and fine brown 
hair niusthave the sun upon them 
before they exhibit their tinge of 
gold. In contrast with the self- 
effaciiig disposition, which saints 
are supposed to have, and I dare 
say do have, and which is yours, 
there is a taste for graceful and 
nice things. One quality is an 
elegance of mind, which {unless I 
am mjich mistaken) I have not 
seen excelled in the classic societies 
of the older laiids; sweet aplomb 
suitable to those assemblies j a 
shy sense that that manner and 
life is yours. Th is gift is infinitely 
removed from ajiykind of self-seek- 
ing or worldlinessj not that that 
is surprising^ however j I suspect y 



indeed, that there is a relation be- 
tijueeii the spirit of the devote and 
the elegant mind, and that a fine 
speech, manner and person are 
talents appropriate to those altars 
luhich are in yonr keeping and 
which yon tend with flowers. Btit 
I think it is rare to find this gift 
united with a sympathy so quick, 
warin and various as yotirs. You 
are charmedwith the common and 
the real, your humor being of the 
kind where love plays tipon the 
facts of hiimanity , upon children, 
animals, nature j skilled in the 
use of slaiig, of which you are 
fond, which grows fine upon your 
lips, and which beco7nes yo7i and 
sets off the finish of your qualities; 
sharing the kind of cynicism that 
belongs to the good, inclined to 
hear in sile7ice and with incre- 
dulity and perhaps a little dis- 
dain professions, sejitimeiits and 
fine language; with the softest 
heart and the closest attention 
and sympathy for any sad story. 
Charined with other countries, you 
have, what is rare atnong your 
countrywomen, a tenacious love 



and preferetice for your own. 
I have spoken of your comic, 
childish expression of trnth afid 
sincerity: till this moment I had 
never brought together in the 
sanie thought with you the idea 
of the reverse of these qualities; 
what an incojigruous association ! 
There is also a very sure percep- 
tion, a strong common sense, a 
judgment apt to light in the cen- 
tre of the mark. Avoiding obser- 
vation and silent before people in 
general.^ you have in the company 
of the half a dozen persons with 
whom your days have been passed 
the nimblest tongue I have ever 
k7iown; in particular we never 
tire of a sweet gift of mockery, — the 
voice, a slight clear treble, rising 
in laughing discourse till it strikes 
a certain joyous note and capti- 
vates the ear with a peculiar cry, 
familiar to its ; a wit a7id fancy 
light as the spray filing from a 
mountain rill in its rushing 
among the rocks and laurels blos- 
soming in the heart of the woods. 
There is no difficulty or infelicity ifi 
that gift; all is fresh, natural, and 



to the mome7it. Yet^ notwithstand- 
ing the delight which these charac- 
teristics inspire in us, there has 
never beeti discoverable in yoit. a 
trace of self-conscioiisnessj the af- 
fectio7iate applause and sympa- 
thetic pride with which from in- 
fancy the youngest of us has been 
heard and regarded has not made 
the slightest mark upon the firm 
and constant Mimility of that na- 
tiire. Then, just as we are about 
to take you in this high key, yo2i 
surprise and please us with so7ne 
very human qualities, a good deal 
of self-will, a shade too much 
pride, some fe7ninine prejudices 
a7id you7ig-ladyish tastes, se7iti- 
77ients a7id e7ith7isias77is, which 
bid us hope that you are 7wt so 
diffe7'ent fro77i others after all. 
All of which see77is to i7ie to 77iake 
up a total that is very perfect. 



It is very early 77ior7iing in a re- 
77iote 77iou7itai7i village, the 77ior7i- 
i7ig still dark, a7idthe air chill a7id 
strong. I a77i goi7ig up07i a jour- 
ney, the stage waits at the door, 



and you have come down. I mark 
the wan cheek {with no thought of 
what is so soon to be), I hear y our 
little jokes, spoken with illimitable 
grace and softness, — and see you 
no more. But such as I have 
rudely sketched above you were 
when you were with tis, and such 
it is difficult to think you are not 
nozv. Shall this changing and 
shifting universe be unending, 
and you, with your complete and 
gracious reality a fid delicate dis- 
tinction of soul, not live ! 



NOTES OF 

A PROFESSIONAL 

EXILE 



NOTES OF 

A PROFESSIONAL 

EXILE 



Zwieback, August, 189-. 
T HAVE often come to Zwie- 
-*■ back, and I have always liked 
it. I have a feeling of hope and 
exhilaration as the train moves 
into the little station. At the 
same time I am always on each 
successive visit afraid I shall 
not enjoy it as I have done be- 
fore. But it has never failed 
to amuse me, and I have always 
left it with regret. 

Of course, I don't know how 
it will be this time, but it prom- 
ises well. The tradespeople on 
the Louisen Strasse recognize 
1 1 



me. That is one of the good 
points of the place. I find my- 
self among old friends. I like 
knowing the people who give 
me my letters at the post-office 
and the young woman at the 
barber's shop. When I aHghted 
at the station, the porter of my 
hotel recognized me with a 
shout of welcome, which seemed 
to be sincere, and actually shook 
me by the hand. The hotel I 
go to is not one of those with 
English names, but an honest 
German place, which is cheaper 
and better than the smart ones. 
At the door I received from the 
landlady that welcome which is 
proverbially warm. I don't at 
all think less of kindness from 
landlords and landladies be- 
cause I know I am to pay for 
my entertainment. 

The town is full of EngUsh 
and Americans, although there 
are, of course, a great many 
Germans. I am here to see 



the Americans. Being an exile 
by profession, a few weeks with 
my compatriots who are here 
is almost like a visit home. 
Some of them are old friends 
whom I meet after a separation 
of years ; others, again, I shall 
meet for the first time; and 
there are still others whom I 
may not have a chance of meet- 
ing at all, but whom I may at 
any rate look at from a distance. 
There are but few men among 
them. They are almost all of 
the other sex, and I am de- 
Hghted to see how much they 
look like women. 

The sitting-room they have 
given me here is certainly not 
dear from the English or Ameri- 
can point of view. It is good- 
sized, plainly but freshly and 
agreeably furnished, and always 
clean and neatly kept. It opens 
upon a well-cared-for flower- 
garden, filled with the common 



German flowers, acaules, stock- 
gillies, anemones, primroses, 
and has beyond the Zwieback 
lawns and foliage. When I 
come into it in the morning for 
breakfast, I find it full of light 
and sweet air, which are nov- 
elties to those whose spring and 
winter have been passed in town 
lodgings. It is sufficiently re- 
tired, and yet within easy call 
of people whom I see passing 
in the street which divides my 
flower-plots from the Kurhaus 
gardens ; some of whom, more 
sociable than the rest, look in 
at my windows for a word or 
two, but do not stop to pay me 
a visit. I try to fill my morn- 
ings with reading or writing, 
and thus give the day a little 
substance and character. 

I have come on here from 
Switzerland, where it has been 

hot. I stayed with H at 

his villa on the Lake of Ge- 



neva. H 's house is suited 

to hot weather. The lawn comes 
down to the edge of the lake, 
with the colors of which the 
large basins of carnations make 
a pleasant contrast. The din- 
ing-room is upon a level with 
the lawn, and opens directly 
on it. Its mosaic floor, of in- 
tricate pattern, and the marble 
columns match well with the 
blue water. It is rather like 
a house a Roman gentleman 
should have had on the banks 
of Como. H let me break- 
fast in a small room on the up- 
per floor, which had no col- 
umns, it is true, but which had 
some books, and which looked 
out on the lake, with whose 
pervading azure the room 
seemed to be filled. I sat in 
the midst of this azure and read, 
usually from some volumes of 
the Queen Anne essayists I 
found there, and had a very 
good breakfast of cutlets, fruit. 



and red wine. There were no 
women about, nothing to affect 
the shade, the silence, and the 
hberty of the house, except the 
voice of Gustave when he said : 
" Monsieur est servi." 

On the day I left I said to 

H : " My dear fellow, I 

have been very well treated 
here. You have given me a 
horse to ride over these hills in 
the morning, and a boat to sail 
on the lake in the afternoon. 
How I have enjoyed this break- 
fast-room! Your permeating 
azure has taken possession of 
my being. I have been, al- 
lowed as much of my own so- 
ciety as I liked. With the 
exception of giving me your 
soothing company at dinner, 
you have kept yourself out of 
the way. And all this for the 
twenty francs which I shall give 
to Gustave ! It is the cheapest 
and best thing I have seen on 
my journey." 



H 's dinners were excel- 
lent. There were two or three 
snow-peaks in sight. I may not 
admire Swiss scenery profound- 
ly, but I agree that these peaks 
are good things to have over 
your shoulder if you are din- 
ing rather well. They have 
the effect of a pretty label on a 
bottle of German wine. (That 
snow gorge between the ai- 
guilles of Lechaud and Char- 
moz would make such a capi- 
tal champagne-cooler!) But I 
have no respect for them — 
not the slightest. 

The fact that Switzerland is 
such a place for holiday-makers 
has given its scenery a kind of 
frivolity. It was a lovely day 
when I came in the steamer 
through the Lake of Thun. The 
boat was crowded with sight- 
seers, and Switzerland was de- 
termined they should not be 
disappointed; for there on our 
right were the white peaks dec- 



orating the blue heavens and 
gUstening for the entertainment 
of the lakes. 

There is scarcely anything 
here to write about but women; 
so that I presume my diary will 
be full of them. 



q^HERE are two faults I have 
-*• to find with American wo- 
men. OneisthiSjthattheyareapt 
to be deficient in a positive fe- 
male character. This is certainly 
true of many New England wo- 
men. I do not mean that they are 
in the least masculine. On the 
contrary ,they are often people of 
a dehcate and refined sort ; but 
they appear to be neuters. Their 
womanly character is rather 
negative than positive. Now 
I think that the feminine nature 
should be as distinct and posi- 
tive as the male. The female 
mind should be as strong after 
its kind as the male's is after its 
kind. The fault I refer to ap- 
pears, by the way, to be a qual- 
ity of well-born and well-edu- 
cated women. Another fault I 



have to find with our women is 
perhaps the quahty of women 
of inferior education. Many of 
our women, and particularly our 
young girls, seem to be wanting 
in courtesy. Our girls are often 
rude. A crabbed bachelor of 
my acquaintance, who lives in 
Paris, ascribes this rudeness to 
the fact that American women 
find it easier to get husbands 
than the women of other coun- 
tries, and therefore do not think 
it worth their while to be civil 
to men. Whatever the cause 
may be, there can be no doubt 
of the fact. I say that these 
girls are of inferior education in 
whom this rudeness appears. 
Well-bred women are often 
rude, but their rudeness is of the 
thought rather than of the speech 
or behavior. It is perhaps near- 
ly as unpleasant to the recipient 
as the more outspoken sort, but 
of course it is more consistent 
with ladyhke pretensions. The 

10 



rudeness of some girls that one 
sees seems almost to be an ex- 
pression of a consciousness of 
vulgarity. 

But it is not enough that 
women should be civil in speech 
and bearing while their minds 
are proud and contemptuous. 
There is an ideal courtesy in 
women which is a quality of the 
soul; it is one of the most beau- 
tiful of female attributes. It 
was this quality in his Beatrice 
which first struck the delicate 
and reverential mind of the 
youthful Dante. I have myself 
so high an estimate of this qual- 
ity that I hesitate to say that 
our girls are wanting in it. 

Zwieback is dear for Ger- 
many, but really cheap. My 
breakfast of coffee and eggs in 
my rooms costs a mark and a 
half. At the Conditorei, where 
many people lunch, there is a 
dreadful clatter of hungry young 



women, and it is not always 
easy to get a seat. But the 
cakes and pastry are as good as 
can be. A greedy compatriot, 
ten years old, who sat at the next 
table, told me, however, that it 
was nothing to the cake-shops of 
Genoa. Some cold meat, a bot- 
tle of Pilsener beer, and enough 
of the cakes to give you an in- 
digestion can be got for a mark 
and thirty pfennig. If one 
wishes to be luxurious and ex- 
travagant, one can have for no 
great sum a late breakfast on 
the piazza of the Kurhaus, in 
the midst of quiet and of a plen- 
tiful sunlight which is delightful 
to anybody who has been spend- 
ing the year among cold, win- 
try fogs, as I have been doing. 
There are tables d'hote where 
you can dine for five marks, in- 
cluding a half-bottle of wine 
and a fee for the waiter. Be- 
sides, there are many Americans, 
EngHsh, and Germans and a few 

12 



French here who are giving 
dinners. 

I was glad to meet in the 
street this morning an old 
friend, a person of great humor, 
and the best company in the 
world. Her presence here has 
always been one of the attrac- 
tions of the place to me. She 
was left a widow early in life, 
and, although much pursued by 
men, has preferred indepen- 
dence and the sole control and 
enjoyment of a handsome prop- 
erty to a return to the married 
state. I asked her about her 
new house in New York, which 
she has just moved into. She 
said, " What it needs is a man. 
I told a friend so the other day, 
and she said: ' The So-and-So's 
have a man they think a great 
deal of, and are trying to get a 
place for; why don't you find 
out about him ? ' But I told her 
I did not want a man to look 

13 



after the furnace and that sort 
of thing : I had a good man for 
that already, was very well 
suited, and had no wish to make 
a change. What I wanted was 
a man for up-stairs." This she 
said in her deliberate and com- 
ical drawl. I do not believe 
she has the slightest intention 
of changing her condition. So 

C and R , who are here 

on that business, might as well 
be away. 

I find that the great superi- 
ority of our women is in the 
fact that they are themselves. 
I do not say that they are su- 
perior in individuality to Eng- 
lish women. The truth is, I 
fancy, that the people of one 
country are about as individual 
as those of another, and that 
most people are more individual 
than we suppose. If you go to 
live in any family, or to work in 
any office, you will find that 



people whom at first you take 
to be commonplace, become, 
afi;er you have known them a 
little while, more and more in- 
dividual. I have never yet 
lived in any community which 
I did not find to contain a good 
many of what are called " char- 
acters." I would not therefore 
quite say that our women are 
superior in individuality. Their 
superiority is that they express 
their individuality. It is for 
this reason that they please to 
such a degree. Other women, 
no doubt, exhibit their individ- 
uahty in their own families, to 
their husbands and brothers. 
Our women exhibit their indi- 
viduality in society, where we 
all get the benefit of it. The 
charm of girlhood is freely ex- 
pressed among us. The differ- 
ence between European girl- 
hood and our own is that be- 
tween game in regions hunted 
by man and the animal life of 

15 



some virgin island of the sea. 
In the first instance the game 
is very wild. But the island bird 
will settle on your shoulder. 
The downcast eye, flushed 
cheek, and low voice are charm- 
ing ; but I am not sure that I pre- 
fer them to the bright confidence 
of a Yankee maiden. I am not 
proof against that refined timid- 
ity of a nursery-bred young lady 
of the Old World ; but is the 
charm she communicates quite 
so lively as that of her Ameri- 
can sister ? 

The repression of the indi- 
viduality of English women is, 
of course, due to the necessity 
they are under of conforming 
to a standard of manners which 
they appear always to have be- 
fore their eyes. The more I 
see of English women here, the 
more sure I am that this is true. 
I observe it not only on com- 
paring them with the women of 
our own country, but on com- 



paring them with those of other 
countries. Perhaps to this cause 
is due the fact that Enghsh wo- 
men cannot smile with the force 
of French women. Yet there 
is often something admirable 
about this very repression. Take, 
for instance, some neat matron or 
some still comely maiden lady 
young enough to wish to be 
handsome, — a class in which 
England abounds, — who has 
her tea-table opinions upon 
politics and what not, and 
whose accents, gestures, and 
sentiments even are modish, — 
one is often pleased to notice, 
beneath the bonds which con- 
fine her mind, an elastic, vigor- 
ous, and charming nature. In- 
deed I think that a fault of our 
women is that they are too 
much expressed ; they are too 
tense. This may be due in 
some shght degree to the edu- 
cation which some of them re- 
ceive in high schools and col- 

2 17 



leges. I went once to the com- 
mencement of an American 
female college. I did not like 
what I saw — the young ladies 
looked to me so wound up. 
The life they led seemed un- 
natural and unreasonable. Why 
should they be made to read 
essays to a thousand people in 
a great hall ? This practice is 
of course borrowed from that 
of the male colleges. The cus- 
tom began, I suppose, with the 
notion that the ability to make 
a speech was the peculiar abil- 
ity of a public man, that he was 
the highest kind of a man, and 
that colleges were intended for 
the education of pubHc men. 
The graduate got up on com- 
mencement day and showed 
what his college education had 
done for him. This notion has 
been very much modified, but 
perhaps it is even yet a good 
custom to be pursued by male 
colleges. There will come times 

18 



in the life of almost any man 
when it will be necessary for 
him to make a speech ; and he 
will present a very poor ap- 
pearance if he cannot do it. 
Perhaps he may be called upon 
to attempt that most difficult 
kind of oratory, an after-dinner 
speech. In that case, it is im- 
possible for the best of men 
without this ability to keep from 
being ridiculous. If he refuses 
to speak, he is ridiculous. If he 
speaks foolishly — as he is likely 
to do — he is also ridiculous. 
But on what occasion is it neces- 
sary for a woman to make a 
speech ? Is it when she is en- 
gaged or when she is married ? 
Is it when she becomes a mother 
or a grandmother ? 

At this commencement the 
young ladies all read essays, and 
I will admit that they were not 
so much frightened as they 
should have been. Apart from 
any objection to their appear- 

19 



ing at all, I objected to the 
character of the appearance 
they made. I was shocked at 
the conventional pertness which 
they seemed to have cultivated. 
They had adopted in their es- 
says a silly fashion of joking. 
Now I am always interested in 
the humorous perceptions of 
my compatriots. It is often a 
source of surprise to me, when at 
home, to find how many people 
there are who have a humorous 
way of looking at things. But 
the jokes of these young ladies 
were not good. They consisted 
of commonplaces put into long 
Latin words. The recipe ap- 
peared to be this, that that 
which in Saxon English is a 
mere plain statement becomes 
very witty when turned into 
Latinized English. They kept 
this up incessantly, the only re- 
lief being when some serious 
allusion to their approaching 
separation would recall them to 

20 



their proper employment of 
shedding tears. 

There was one of these essay- 
ists, a young lady who really 
seemed to have some natural 
humor, who awakened my keen 
commiseration. Her tense mind 
seemed altogether too much for 
her slight body. I wanted to 
tell her to go and sit at her 
grandmother's window, near 
the shadow of the lilac-bushes, 
to immure her mind and thin 
hands in deep dishes of pump- 
kin batter, to stay a whole sum- 
mer in some still village, with 
only a little poetry to read, and 
away from all stimulating so- 
ciety. 

I have said that American 
vulgarity exhibits itself in rude- 
ness. English vulgarity, on the 
other hand, generally appears 
under the form of undue con- 
formity. I cannot describe to 
you how strong my sense is of 



the prevalence of this quahty 
among many of the EngUsh 
people that I see here. There 
is a rather underdone young 
Englishman here, a very good- 
natured fellow, in whom this 
conformity has settled down- 
ward to the very soles of his 
boots; you see it in the things 
he says, in the tones of his voice, 
in his gestures and attitudes. 
Want of breeding, by the way, 
is much more easily discernible 
in men than in women. Among 
young women, rosy cheeks and 
a pair of bright eyes and the 
feminine adaptability cover up 
this quality very much. But 
you will see the imitation in 
them also, if you look closely. 

I went this afternoon to take 
tea with some English people 
who are at the hotel opposite. 
There was an amiable, fresh- 
looking girl who poured out the 
tea. She was an exceedingly 
nice girl. If manners must be 

22 



imitative, I don't think any 
could be better than hers. But 
it was true that you could see 
by her way of sitting, by her 
way of holding her shoulders, 
and by the manner of her refer- 
ences to the accidents of Eng- 
lish fashionable life, as if they 
were, and as if they were not, 
quite her own, that her mind 
was sat upon by some standard 
of behavior to which she felt 
herself obliged to conform. Per- 
haps this imitation might be- 
come tiresome if one lived in 
England, but with people who 
have such good nature and such 
good looks as this family one 
does not mind a little of it. 

The young Englishman just 
referred to is a plain young fel- 
low. But I find the same vul- 
garity exhibited by him in an 
accomplished person I have met 
here, a university man, and, I 
beHeve, a poet. What faces he 

23 



makes; how he screws up his 
mouth, and how imitative are 
the inflections of his voice! 
One might expect this from 
my Brummagem rosy-cheeked 
youth ; but a scholar and a man 
of genius, even without other 
quaUfications for the part, should 
have the intellectual discrimi- 
nation and decision of character 
to be a gentleman. 

English women of the upper 
class fancy that they are hand- 
somer than those of the middle 
class, or, at any rate, that they 
possess more attractions. They 
have, of course, finer manners. 
One of them said the other 
day, " We are the freest class," 
which is probably true ; and free- 
dom is necessary to pleasing 
manners. They are more agree- 
able and have more and better 
conversation. But I doubt if 
they are handsomer. There is 
often upon the faces of women 

24 



who lead a life of fashion an ag- 
gressive expression which is so 
far unfavorable to fern ale beauty . 
I speak now of the woman who, 
although she has four balls for 
the night, is wretched because 
she has been denied the fifth. 

I see I have written rather 
slightingly about the manners 
of certain English women. I 
admire them greatly, however. 
The qualities of the British na- 
ture are such as are particularly 
suitable to women. Those qual- 
ities, — benevolence, sense, dig- 
nity, decency, rectitude, — when 
combined with feminine soft- 
ness, make up a character which 
is like balsam to the mind. The 
mental dullness proper to the 
nation is also to some degree 
refined away in them. When 
these qualities are united with 
beauty, with high breeding, and, 
as is sometimes the case, with 
majesty of form and counte- 



nance, you have indeed a fine 
object. The Enghsh women 
here are almost altogether of 
the middle and upper classes; 
but what strikes you when you 
visit England is the high aver- 
age of female beauty. You see 
there exceedingly fine persons 
among the lower classes. One 
of the most beautiful women I 
ever saw there was a lodging- 
house keeper. I went to look 
for lodgings in Green street. 
The door was opened by a large 
woman of thirty-five, fair and 
rather full in figure, whose mild 
beauty of countenance and as- 
pect astonished me. For the 
moment I thought I had before 
me one of the grand illusions 
of Rubens. She seemed to me 
a figure such as the joyful 
humor of some great painter 
might have perpetuated from 
one of those times and places 
of happy repose which the cen- 
turies conceal. Her beauty was 



one which preferred to flourish 
in the shade. This good man's 
house, which no doubt did as 
well as any, she had selected 
for her sojourn. She was con- 
tent here to be cutting bread 
and butter, glad to be shielded 
from the eyes of the world. A 
peculiarity of this woman was 
that she had an air of habitual 
perturbation. She was one of 
that class of women who find 
their beauty a burden, and la- 
ment the necessity they are un- 
der of having to carry it about 
with them. The lodgings were 
extremely nice, and I thought 
how pleasant it would be to 
take them and give tea-parties 
at which she should bring in 
the things ; but I found this 
was out of the question. She 
asked five guineas for the 
rooms, with three and sixpence 
for the kitchen fire, and linen, 
bath, hghts, and boots extra. 



27 



I CAME across the other day, 
in "Frank LesUe's Illus- 
trated Paper," which I found in 
the Kurhaus reading-room, a 
poem written by some girl of 
about twenty-three (I suppose), 
who thought herself very old. 
The poem was addressed to a 
young man with whom she ap- 
peared to have had a flirtation, 
we will say, at the age of twenty. 
She tells him that the love they 
threw away so lightly was not a 
thing to be met with every day, 
and was worth keeping. The 
title, I think, was " Rags." At 
any rate, the thought was that 
this love had now become rags. 
It had gone into the old rag- 
bag, the Past ; " Time" she said, 
was the "old Ragman." You 
can fancy the poetess to be 



some rather high-pressure Yan- 
kee girl, clever, perhaps satir- 
ical, a little romantic, and 
what you would call intense, 
with a brow of premature 
thought, a sallow cheek (such 
is my notion), and a face and 
figure in which is ill concealed 
the energy of her disposition. 
What particularly strikes you is 
that the young lady is evidently 
her own mistress. There is no 
chaperon or a suspicion of one 
anywhere about. I may here 
say that I think this indepen- 
dence an advantage to an inter- 
esting female character. Do 
not all the heroines of poetry 
and romance have it ? The Ho- 
meric Nausicaa, the Chloes and 
Phillises of pastoral poetry, and 
in later times Shakspere's Rosa- 
lind and the Angelina of Gold- 
smith's ballad, are, in this par- 
ticular, much like American 
girls. Any really fine young wo- 
man of modern societv should 



have the same independence. 
She should be like the princess 
of a small kingdom. She 
should have ministers and a 
standing army, and should have 
at her command the sinews of 
war. She should be able to 
form treaties of amity and 
friendship with the surround- 
ing princes. She should have 
power to make war, or, if love 
is to be made, it should be from 
the same high vantage-ground. 
The interesting women one 
knows at home have been much 
in this position. I cannot im- 
agine them with chaperons. 
Their liberty is an essential ele- 
ment of their superiority. 

Take the fine women I know. 
There is the gentle and pro- 
found Helena, and there is M. 
L . The last was the daugh- 
ter of a Quaker family whose 
farm-house overlooks Long Isl- 
and Sound. They see at noon 
the cheerful blue of its ghtterirtg 

30 



wave and the white rim of the 
distant shore. She was ex- 
tremely pretty. She talked in- 
cessantly. But it did not seem 
hke talking; conversation, or 
rather monologue, was her nor- 
mal state of existence. It was 
only another sort of silence. I 
say that she was a Quaker. As 
a matter of fact, I believe that 
her family had separated from 
the Quaker faith, but she was 
sufficiently near the Quaker 
character and mode of life. Her 
eloquence must have been de- 
rived from generations of 
preachers of that denomination. 
Her language, although truth- 
ful, was full and fluent. She 
read you with introvertive eye, 
from the tablets of her mind, 
numbers of thoughts which 
seemed to my bewitched ears 
beautiful and original, upon 
poetry, art, books, people, etc. 
She repeated these in a voice 
the most charming I have ever 



listened to — poetical quotations 
sounded so very fine when she 
uttered them, as she did now 
and then in her simple way. 
She even imparted a certain 
magic to the flinty meters of 
that pedant, W . She ad- 
mired widely, and you yourself 
came in for a share of the lively 
interest with which she regarded 
creation. The air of wonder 
with which she listened to what 
you said excited your self-love 
to the highest pitch. I visited 
their farm-house twice. I re- 
member an orchard near at 
hand which stretched along the 
crest of a broken hill. I saw 
this once when the spring had 
sent a quick wave of bright 
verdure over the sod cropped 
short by the cows. The orchard 
was cut into three or four small 
patches, but there was a break 
in each of the separating fences, 
so that you could walk the or- 
chard floors from room to room. 

32 



I went again later one hot mid- 
summer morning, when ourpath 
led to a wood through a blazing 
wheat-field, in which I stopped 
to pull a branch of wild roses. 
We came soon to a brake on an 
abrupt hillside, where, shut in 
by masses of dense and bril- 
liantly painted greenery, mov- 
ing incessantly with the forest 
zephyrs, and not far from a 
white dogwood tree, which 
overhung the source of a wood- 
land pathway, we rested from 
the heat. I began to cut away 
the thorns from the branch of 
wild roses, an action which I was 
half conscious was mistaken. I 
had better have let her prick 
her fingers, for she said: "You 
can't care for wild roses if you 
would cut away the thorns." 

Another recollection I have, 
of walking along a country 
roadside in that twilight which 
is almost dark. The daughter 
of the Quakers wore a blue silk 

3 33 



cape with long fringes. She 
was talking her " thees " and 
" thous " to a half-grown lad, 
her cousin, as if she were no 
better than other women. The 
tall white daisies, thickly sown 
by the roadside, wheeled and 
swam in ghostly silence. It 
seemed that the slight figure 
that stepped briskly before me 
had a cosmic might and force 
residing among and descended 
from those stars and planets 
wliich had begun to strew the 
black heavens. 

The family to which this girl 
belonged seemed to me to be 
people who practised a very 
high order of civilization. She 
was the most obedient and duti- 
ful of daughters ; but for all that 
she seemed to dominate the 
whole connection, and the land- 
scape too, I should say. Her 
liberty was so a part of herself 
that I could not imagine her 
without it. 



T TRIED last night to walk 
A through a quadrille at the 
dance at the Kurhaus. We made 
a great many mistakes ; nobody 
knew it except a young English 
lady, a thoroughbred little crea- 
ture, evidently very exact and 
conscientious. She knew her 
part perfectly and executed her 
steps with the greatest preci- 
sion, holding her skirt with 
thumb and finger and advanc- 
ing and retreating among the 
blunderers with an expression 
of gentleforgiveness,fi*om which, 
however, was not wanting a 
due sense of the culpabihty of 
such conduct. She sat next me 
in the English church this morn- 
ing, and she knew her places 
in the Prayer-book as well as 
her steps in the quadrille. 



There are few things which 
give me so rauch pleasure as 
looking at good dancing. And 
I prefer the dancing of respect- 
able people to the best ballets. 
I do not find (with a few ex- 
ceptions) that ballet-dancers are 
graceful. Their posturing and 
prancing are inane and stupid. 
Then to me the great attraction 
of dancing is that it is so ex- 
pressive of people's individual- 
ity. Now individuality among 
professional dancers is rarer 
even than grace, the effect of 
their usual Hfe being to reduce 
them to so much human pulp. 
It is natural that people should 
become less individual as their 
bodies predominate over their 
minds, since people's minds are 
capable of infinite variety, while 
their bodies are made up of the 
same kind of blood, bones, and 
tissue. There is, on the other 
hand, a great deal of variety to 
be met with at an average ball. 



Dancing compels the expres- 
sion of these varieties. Pride, 
humility, delicacy, coarseness, 
and vanity, with its many phases, 
all express themselves. At the 
hop yesterday evening, to which 
the ladies came with their hats 
on, there were a dozen people 
I should like to paint. Some 
expressed simply the joy of the 
exercise, the sense of freedom 
and the feehng that they were 
doing the thing beautifully. The 
best dancers were the Ameri- 
cans ; and of all the dances in use 
in pohte society, none is equal 
to that in vogue in America in 
giving opportunity for freedom. 
Of these one could not help ob- 
serving one young lady who is 
both a good dancer and rider, 
and who has that easy balance 
of the body from the hips up- 
ward which is, I believe, com- 
mon to good horsemen an d good 
dancers. Her movement was 
remarkably flowing. A long 

37 



skirt, by the way, enhances the 
beauty of dancing. It is a good 
register and indicator of the 
movements of the body. The 
swimming of this garment after 
the young woman just men- 
tioned, as if in pursuit of her, 
made all the more fascinating 
the agreeable flight with which 
she traversed the room. 

Dances like that of last night 
are better than great balls in 
town. At a place like this you 
very quickly get to know the 
people, by sight at least, in meet- 
ing them half a dozen times a 
day, and you get interested in 
them as individuals. But very 
little interest of that sort per- 
tains to a big crush in town. 
Not that one does not now and 
then enjoy a smart town dance, 
the smarter the better perhaps. 
After months of abstention from 
such frivolities, when, for the 
first time in the season, at a par- 
ticularly nice party, the fiddlers 



strike up and the young, the 
beautiful, and the brilHant sweep 
into the dance, one's fancy is 
apt to be quickened a httle. 

I recall at this moment one 
big ball that was an interesting 
sight. It was at one of the 
greatest of the' London houses. 
I had stayed on until very late. 
In those spacious rooms, flanked 
by the most famous canvases 
of Rubens, there were scarcely 
fifty people left, and these were 
gathered in the room with the 
musicians. Upon a small dais 
was the orchestra, a perfect one, 
consisting of half a dozen play- 
ers, which seemed to partake of 
the madness of the dancers and 
added "extra" after "extra" 
with the tireless movement of a 
perpetual machine. The gal- 
vanized action of the players, 
from crazy repetition, caught a 
swing which, it seemed, might 
go on forever. It was past five, 
and in that climate, and at that 

39 



season of the year (it was June), 
there had been some hours of 
sunshine. The strange and garish 
Hght gave the scene an almost 
unearthly aspect. They danced 
the " Tempete," and, as the mad 
figures with hands joined rushed 
shouting and sHding across the 
floor, now slippery with the ac- 
tion of vanished feet, it was in- 
deed a striking spectacle. It 
looked like a dance of witches. 
But a beautiful woman came 
and broke the spell which 
bound the musicians, and re- 
leased them ; the dancers with- 
drew reluctantly, and I walked 
home through the park in the 
midst of sunshine as broad as 
noon. 

I should not think they 
danced particularly well in Ger- 
man society. I remember a 
Silesian lady, married to an 
Austrian, whose bold manner 
of dancing, which her fine per- 

40 



son and original character no 
doubt assisted, was most strik- 
ing. The best dancing I have 
seen in Germany is that of the 
peasants. The other day I was 
walking in some hills above 
the Rhine, near St. Goar, and 
looking back upon a far finer 
view than you get from the 
banks of the river, when I heard 
the tinkling of music and the 
sound of voices in the Castle of 
Rheinfels. I found my way into 
the ruin. Some peasants and 
townspeople were dancing upon 
a platform in an open space. I 
joined in, which any one may 
do, the only condition being 
that you pay a few pence for 
your partner and yourself to the 
musicians, who make a collec- 
tion at the end of each dance. 
The dance was a good deal 
like a polka mazurka; this is 
done by taking three steps in 
one direction and then in the 
contrary one. There was one 



couple who danced admirably 
and in perfect time. The girl, 
who appeared to be of a class 
superior to the rest, — she was, 
I believe, the daughter of the 
village editor, — was very grace- 
ful and had a charming manner, 
smiling all the while with a 
forcible sweetness and courtesy. 
The young man was a stout, 
thickset young fellow, and 
danced well, as heavy people 
often do, and with an expres- 
sion of repressed joy. 



42 



I HAVE spent the morning 
reading "Pride and Pre- 
judice " — that never-ending 
source of pleasure. The effect of 
Enghsh hterature of past times 
upon the mind is heightened by 
our knowledge that it represents 
a civilization and society, as per- 
fect as any we know at present, 
which have departed. In reading 
Miss Austen, one does not forget 
this fact, and one also remem- 
bers that, of all the interesting 
people she described, none re- 
main. The incomparable Eliza- 
beth, Mr. Knighdey and Mr. 
Darcy, the brisk and clever 
Emma, and those charming im- 
ages of Elizabeth's silly and vul- 
gar sisters (those sisters have the 
reality of fungi that have sprung 
up in the moist ground over- 

43 



night), all the characters, indeed, 
which we owe to that beautiful 
mind, have gone — folly and vir- 
tue alike departed. They retreat 
under those solemn oaks in the 
somber but friendly gloom of 
the British evening, amid those 
simple first hours of the century 
— none left to tell the tale. 

Ho w English the story is ( Eng- 
lish of the early century ), and ho w 
unconscious of ideas that are not 
English ! In the character of 
Darcy is shown the intimate re- 
lation existing between a su- 
perior moral nature and ten 
thousand a year, while in that 
of Wickham is exemplified the 
truth that vice and poverty are 
synonymous terms. 

I have brought on here from 
the London Library some half- 
dozen volumes of Hazlitt's es- 
says, an extravagant thing to 
do when one is charged for 
all baggage over fifty pounds. 



They are rather disappointing. 
They are too off-hand to have 
much critical value. Hazlitt, 
however, had a fine gift of 
color, of which a good example 
is his remark about Mrs. Inch- 
bald, that "her novels were as 
if Venus had written books." 
She was a very handsome wo- 
man. I have an image of her 
in my mind, which is very likely 
not in the least like the fact, but 
which I have derived from "A 
Simple Story " and " Nature and 
Art." It is that of a person 
with more ardor than discrimi- 
nation, with "language large," 
as the phrenologists say, her in- 
cessant conversation enriched 
by a full and peculiar voice; 
looking at men who were clever, 
or who thought themselves so, 
with an animated recognition 
which inclined the most pru- 
dent of them to take themselves 
too seriously — a charming va- 
riety of the female character. 



I have said that EngHsh 
women cannot smile. If they 
cannot smile, they can frown, 
and I like a frowning woman. 
There is a lady whom I often 
meet with her children in the 
streets and at church. I cannot 
conceive of her smiling. Her 
face — a dark oval one — and 
her carriage express the utmost 
decision, and at service she 
prays with such resolution ! And 
there is a young girl here of 
sometliing the same character. 
Her concentrated gravity and 
earnestness of expression mask 
or reveal an honest mind. She 
has this expression always. 
When she dances even, it is 
with a serious and energetic 
face, her shoulders back, re- 
volving like a soldier on drill. 

I have heard the opinion ex- 
pressed lately, that there has 
been in modern times an ad- 
vance in the beauty of women. 



Perhaps there has been, al- 
though I should doubt it. Pliny 
speaks of a young lady of his 
time in the following manner: 
" The youngest daughter of my 
friend Fundanus is dead. I have 
never seen a more cheerful and 
more lovable girl, or one who 
had better deserved to have 
enjoyed a long — I had almost 
said an immortal — life. She was 
scarcely fourteen, and yet there 
w^as in her a wisdom far beyond 
her years, a matronly gravity 
united with girlish sweetness 
and virgin bashfulness. With 
what an endearing fondness did 
she hang on her father's neck ! 
How affectionately and mod- 
estly she used to greet us, his 
friends ! With what a tender 
and deferential regard she used 
to treat her nurses, tutors, teach- 
ers, each in their respective of- 
fices ! What an eager, industri- 
ous, intelHgent reader she was ! 
. . . O melancholy and untimely 



loss, too truly ! She was en- 
gaged to an excellent young 
man." This was a long time 
ago. The above-mentioned 
theory to the contrary notwith- 
standing, one may be sure that 
there was something pretty 
about this young lady. I have 
no doubt she suited Pom- 
ponius Rufus, the young man 
to whom she was engaged. Her 
face and form, at any rate, had 
that evanescence which is of it- 
self a beauty. The lines of her 
countenance, her features even, 
the expression of her figure, were 
all new. She had acquired them 
since the preceding year. Pliny 
is writing perhaps in a. d. 109. 
Three years earlier she was still 
playing with dolls. Now she 
has a " wisdom beyond her 
years," " a matronly gravity," 
and "a virgin bashfulness." I 
think, too, there is something 
pretty in the fondness for study 
of this child of the accomplished 

48 



Fundanus. She was not like 
one of those pert daughters of 
Hterary famihes that I have 
known, who despise books, and 
want only to know rich and 
smart people, and go to balls 
and races. I have no doubt 
she had a bust of Virgil in her 
bedroom. She probably had a 
birthday-book of the poets' 
works, and made people write 
their names opposite their re- 
spective quotations. 

Apropos of the daughter 

of Fundanus, the R s are 

staying here, with all their chil- 
dren. The youngest daughter 
is about fifteen. Her sisters say 
she is at the awkward age. She 
is tall for her age, and her limbs 
are long. Hers may be the 
awkward age, but there is a 
grace about her awkwardness 
which it would be hard for more 
completed beauties to match. 
She exhibits this in walking or 
standing, but especially in a 

4 i9 



sitting position, for her body- 
then falls into indolent attitudes 
which are perfect in grace. Her 
indisposition to break up any 
position into which she has 
fallen is not so much the result 
of indolence as of what I be- 
lieve to be an instinct that any- 
thing so pretty should not too 
soon come to an end. Her 
figure at such times seems to 
have a pleasurable conscious- 
ness of repose. Her silence is 
perpetual. I greatly enjoy it. 
This beautiful mushroom has 
grown to its present height 
since I left college. 

It is always a matter of 
surprise to find how tall some 
very young girls are. You know 
they are young, and you dis- 
count their inches unconscious- 
ly. Your knowledge of their 
age has the efiect of an optical 
illusion. Speaking of tall wo- 
men, there is here an extraor- 



dinarily tall young lady, who is 
at the same time very pretty. 
She must be considerably more 
than six feet, and the fact of 
her being very slender adds to 
her apparent height. I was in- 
troduced to her the other even- 
ing. Her face is remarkably 
pretty, the features being very 
regular and perfect, and the ex- 
pression charming. As I looked 
up at it, it seemed to me like 
some beautiful picture at the 
Academy which had unfortu- 
nately been hung too high. 

It is interesting to observe 
how gentle the minds of many 
of these tall women are. If 
there were somewhere a woman 
a mile high, and you could, by 
an arrangement of ladders, 
climb up to a level with her 
face, I believe that you would 
there find a sweet and foolish 
mind, an eye that would sink 
with giddy pleasure under the 
glance of admiration. 



THE poor Germans get very 
little good of their royal- 
ties, of whom there are several 
staying here. The English cap- 
ture them. They stalk them 
daily on the promenade and at 
the springs. I was present this 
morning at a kind of still hunt. 
I was at the Kurhaus, and found 
a number of English waiting at 
the door. They told me the 
Grand Duke was having his 
luncheon. A throng of twenty 
or thirty people, most of whom 
could boast some kind of ac- 
quaintance with His Royal 
Highness, were there, in the 
hope that he would speak to 
them. I got chairs for two aw- 
fully nice women, who were old 
friends of mine, and who said 
very simply: "We shall feel 



very badly if he does not speak 
to us." Old Wilkins produced a 
letterwhich he had just received 
from another eminent person- 
age, saying: " I wonder how she 
knew my address." The com- 
pany seemed impressed with 
this utterance. But the people 
did not talk much; they were 
silent and serious. Some of 
them would now and then try 
to push to the front, when there 
were black looks from behind. 
There was one lady, the wife of 
a general, I believe, who did not 
seem welcome among certain 
more fashionable bystanders. 
She held her ground, how- 
ever. Her pale, determined 
face seemed to say: "Did we 
not entertain His Royal High- 
ness at Aldershot; and did he 
not send to inquire after our 
daughter, who had the diph- 
theria ? I think there is reason 
to hope he will speak to me." 
Presently the Grand Duke came 



out, walking fast and brushing 
his beard. He walked through 
the company, but did not speak 
to any of them. 

Old Wilkins really loves these 
great ones. It is commonly held 
that a courtier is insincere and 
a flatterer. I doubt if that no- 
tion is a true one. A man can 
scarcely make another man, 
who is an intelligent person, 
believe for any length of time 
that he admires and loves him, 
if he does not. No man can be 
a good courtier by simulating 
admiration. It is part of a 
successful courtier's stock in 
trade that he really does ad- 
mire. The courtier who would 
succeed must not pretend to 
a love he does not feel, but 
must work upon his mind to 
bring it to the proper condition 
as regards the great ones. A 
good courtier, however, does 
not need to do this. Old Wil- 

54 



kins, no doubt, has always 
loved them. 

An objectionable person has 
arrived^ whom I wish I did not 
know. It is a great misfortune 
to have made the acquaintance 
of a man to whom you are un- 
able to overcome your repug- 
nance. You can get on perfect- 
ly with him, if you don't know 
him. Knowing him, you must 
speak to him, and it is difficult 
to do that without manifesting 
your aversion. If you avoid 
him, and keep out of his way, 
he observes that; and if you 
cease altogether to recognize 
him, he is, of course, your ene- 
my. Now, if there were only 
some ceremony of dis-introduc- 
tion, after which your relations 
with him would be just what 
they were before you knew him ! 
You would then say in a natural 
way, and with no thought of 
giving offense: " Will you please 

55 



dis-introduceme to Mr. ? " 

Were human nature the reason- 
able thing it should be, and per- 
haps will be in the millennium, 
this would be perfectly practi- 
cable. If such a custom now 
existed, with what avidity would 
I seek a dis-introduction to this 
person ! 

There is something that ap- 
peals strongly to the humor in 
the simplicity of the motives 
which the old playwrights as- 
sign to their characters. For 
instance, in the lists of dramatis 
persojics, a male character is 
represented as "in love" with a 
female character, and as " friend 
to" another male character. 
How much more complex and 
intricate would a play be which 
should describe the facts as I 
see them to be here. The list 
of dramatis personce. would be 
something like the following : 

Alonzo. (Inclined to fancy 

56 



Maria, but is dissuaded by the 
vulgarity of her relations. Ulti- 
mately proposes to Olivia.) 

Claudius. (Would really 
propose to Miranda — or thinks 
he should — if she had money. 
Imagines he had better try for 
Olivia, but, finding she will not 
have him, falls back on Maria.) 

Valentine. (A plain man 
of some property, really in love 
with Miranda.) 

Miranda. (Rather likes 
Claudius, but thinks she had 
better take Valentine, as she 
may not have so good a chance 
again.) 

Olivia. (Does not like men. 
Thinks they are all after her 
money. Prefers a man whom 
she has left in America, and 
who cannot get here within the 
three days required by the 
unities. Accepts Alonzo, partly 
out of civility and compliance, 
and partly because, Alonzo be- 
ing a rich man, she erroneously 



supposes he is therefore not a 
fortune-hunter.) 

Maria. (An heiress.) 

Isabella. (Mother to Mi- 
randa. Has an eye, for her 
daughter, on Alonzo, — who, 
meanwhile, has no notion of 
Miranda^ — is not disposed to 
let go her hold on Vale7itine, 
but is a strenuous enemy of 
Claudius. ) 

Antonio. (Friend to Clau- 
dius. Is not, however, alto- 
gether pleased in perceiving 
that Claudius, with Maria's 
money, will be a greater man 
than himself.) 

Angelo. (Friend to Valen- 
tine. Is all the more earnest 
in support of his friend's suit 
for the reason that he secretly 
believes that Valentine has little 
chanceof being accepted. Hav- 
ing been himself not insensible 
to a certain dimple in the cheek 
of Miranda, he is not particu- 
larly happy to learn that the 



mind and person of that lady 
are to be indeed the property 
of Vale)iti7ie.) 

The author's first intention 
was to make " traitors " of An- 
tonio and A?igeio rather than 
"friends," but he reHnquished 
this purpose on perceiving that 
they were too good men for the 
part. 

(In the fifth act the characters 
are with difficulty got to the 
footlights; the orchestra makes 
the conventionally festive flour- 
ish; the house is expectant; 
when suddenly they all scam- 
per off the stage to meet and 
repeat the performance the 
next season.) 

Right on the top of my re- 
mark that the passion of love, 
or that simple passions of any 
sort, such as the plays describe, 
are not to be met with in 
Zwieback, comes the adorable 
spinster Phillis, accompanied by 

59 



Amyntas, who has been in love 
with her for years. She is a really 
fine person — a tall, full, blonde 
woman, with a coquetry which 
approaches philanthropy, it is so 
amiable, so vague and elevated. 
Her desire to please expands it- 
self into a fine and gentle en- 
thusiasm. She has a freedom 
and a strength of position which 
would be possible to no other 
than an American spinster. She 
is not emancipated, or peculiar, 
or anything that is unbecoming, 
but sits by her tea-table, like 
Deborah of old under her palm- 
tree. From this position,in which 
I have often seen her, she radi- 
ates her interest in mankind in 
general, and the male portion 
thereof in particular. 

Amyntas has been in pursuit 
of her for years, if that may be 
called pursuit where she does 
not fly and he scarcely dares 
follow. The affair has reached 
a state of suspended motion. 

60 



He is quite content to be near 
her, to listen to the sound of her 
voice, and to be conscious of her 
movements. Indeed, it is to 
be doubted whether her actual 
presence is necessary to him. I 
should think he might sit very 
comfortably in the same room 
with one of her old dresses. 



61 



I FIND that certain Ameri- 
can women are very hard, or 
tart, or both. I have spoken of 
a want of a positive feminine 
nature which some American 
women have. It is upon this 
basis that the character I speak 
of is produced. Ammonia and 
Lapidea are both here. Ammo- 
nia is a woman who has been so 
used to thinking tart thoughts 
and saying tart things that her 
face has a drawn and puckered 
expression, hke that of a person 
who has been eating persim- 
mons. Not that I suppose she 
has ever eaten them. The per- 
simmon is Southern; I have 
never seen it farther north than 
Pennsylvania. Ammonia, on 
the other hand, is from New 
York. I have never heard of 

62 



her farther south than the Hud- 
son River. Ammonia, more- 
over, is apoHte person, while the 
persimmon is anything but a po- 
lite fruit. It is never eaten ex- 
cept by darkies or by very small 
boys in moments of extreme 
ejinui. So I doubt if Ammo- 
nia has ever seen a persimmon. 
Ammonia is unmarried. La- 
pidea is married. She is a dis- 
tinguished and handsome crea- 
ture. She has been a great 
heiress, but it was not on that 

account A married her. 

It was her distinction, good 
connections, and unmistakable 
fashion that attracted him. He 
chose her because he is the kind 
of man who likes to be well 
turned out. She is ambitious, 
and I don't doubt will have a 
career. 

The pretty American women 
here are much admired by for- 
eigners, especially by English- 
men. It is not in the nature 

63 



of women to resent this kind of 
thing. American women have^ 
moreover, an adaptabiHty which 
few other women have, and they 
like to practise their talents 
upon the various orders and 
races of men. But it makes the 
American men jealous, and it is 
not surprising that it should. I 
find that I don't like it. I will 
own that when I see one of them 
surrounded by half a dozen 
Englishmen, I feel like Troilus 
when he saw Cressida flirting in 
the camp of the Greeks. 

Notwithstanding the adapta- 
bility of our women, however, 
they have a character of their 
own, of which they are tenacious 
— often, no doubt, against their 
will — amid circumstances most 
remote from those of their own 
country. There are various 
marks of this character. For in- 
stance, there is a woman here 
who lives abroad and at such 
places as this, and who pursues 



the life of the third-rate watering- 
place society to which she de- 
votes herself with the same bust- 
ling activity with which, were 
she amid her native scenes, she 
would be making pumpkin pies. 

There is also a tall, dark, 

slight girl. Miss B . She is 

a young woman of undoubted 
fashion and perfectly dressed. 
Yet, as I see her walking through 
a quadrille, I observe in her 
mind a perception so vivacious 
as to be almost unladylike. I 
am aware of a Yankee incisive- 
ness, a keen, dry light like that 
of her native hills. I am con- 
scious of her New England 
origin whenever I am in her 
society. Beyond her Worth 
dresses, perfect French, and 
mundane wit and manners, I 
see a smart white farm-house 
on a round, clear hill. 

But I am just now thinking 
especially of one characteristic 
of American women. There is 

5 * 65 



a school-ma'am basis in the 
character of certain of our 
women, particularly those of 
Puritan origin. A peculiarity 
of them is that they seem to 
disapprove of you a little, and, 
if they are charming, I find 
there is something pleasant in 
being the object of their disap- 
proval. I see this character in 
women who, of course, could 
not have been school-ma'ams, 
who indeed have hardly lived 
in America. I know one — and 
she is very pretty — who even 
as a girl has passed most of her 
days abroad. She is married to 
a German and lives in Silesia. 
The whole of the few years of 
her married life she has spent 
at courts. Yet I never meet her, 
amid scenes so different from 
those of the land of our com- 
mon birth, without being con- 
scious that she has this quality. 
It always seems to me that 
she is going to " keep me in." 

G6 * 



IT is very noticeable that the 
min ds of many of our women, 
especially those from New Eng- 
land, are too much obtruded. 
Their intellects are indecently 
exposed. Is this, I wonder, the 
result of higher education ? 
The quality I refer to may not 
be very pleasing, and yet it may 
be useful. With the growth 
of the mind should come the 
growth of reason; and that 
should be good, for we know 
how much mischief can be done 
by a foolish woman. 

I am unable to express my 
sense of the originahty of one 
production of America — a type 
of woman which, although not 
universal, is still very prevalent 
there. In particular there is a 

67 



young girl, usually tall, that I 
see very often, who has the look 
of an effeminate boy. It looks 
as if she is going to be every- 
where. That sweetness, kind- 
ness, and richness of mind which 
was good enough for the artists 
and poets that have gone before 
us, it seems we are about to im- 
prove off the face of the earth. 
People tell me that this is a 
crotchet of mine. But the fact 
is so obvious that I am unable to 
understand how anybody can 
fail to recognize it. It is recog- 
nized, I am sure. Only the other 
day a young fellow who makes 
no pretensions to be a critic said 
(we had just been in the com- 
pany of one of these young 
ladies) : " They always seem to 
me to be like another fellow." 

There is something very sub- 
lime in the infinite repetition 
of human good qualities. There 
is a young girl here to whom 



the care of an invalid father 
is evidently a passion. She is 
English, and addresses him as 
" Dear," a pretty habit which I 
believe to be especially English. 
There are many daughters with 
such traits. Nature deals in 
these qualities as Chicago oper- 
ators deal in grain. What a 
great quantity of filial piety there 
must be in the world ! 

Heiresses are plentiful here. 
An heiress is a humorous ob- 
ject — she is such a mixture of 
conventional with natural and 
necessary attributes. She is 
made up of stocks, smiles, 
tears, mining property, blushes, 
real estate, a complexion and 
hair dark or blonde, as the case 
may be. When she falls in love, 
she is extremely interesting. It 
is affecting to see the hopes and 
fears of that passion rising in 
her heart in complete indepen- 
dence of those weighty matters 



which control men in great 
cities. But some heiresses are 
very rude. Diana D , a Bos- 
ton girl with a million or 
two, clever and learned, they 
say, and handsome as well, is 
staying here. She plainly re- 
gards herself as something very 
desirable, and considers men 
proper obj ects of suspicion . She 
takes a solitary morning walk in 
the gardens, keeping her veil 
down. If you meet her and 
regard her with a natural and 
proper curiosity, she returns 
your glance with an expression 
of countenance like that of the 
ladies of Constantinople who 
exclaim, on meeting an infidel, 
— particularly if some of the 
male faithful happen to be in 
sight, — "Dog of a Christian, 
Infidel, Giaour!" — these epi- 
thets followed by a string of 
Oriental metaphors which,when 
translated, mean something 
very rude. 

70 



I shall begin to wonder pres- 
ently who is n't here. I have 

just met Mildred R in the 

Ferdinand Strasse. Mildred is 
a woman very characteristic of 
America, but of an entirely dif- 
ferent type from those I have 
just mentioned. She is a Vir- 
ginian. She is an inevitable 
flirt, whose coquetry is of the 
muscular, vigorous kind. I met 
her first one evening in the par- 
lor of an American house. It 
was in one of those scenes the 
participation in which has af- 
forded me the keenest social 
pleasure I have ever known. 
She was staying in this house at 
the time, or had dined there. 
Two youths were sitting on 
either side of her^ one holding 
a spool of thread, the other 
playing with the scissors. Miss 

H said : " Do you see those 

two boys ? They ought to have 
gone hours ago to a dance 
across the street. They prom- 

71 



ised, and they want to go, 
but they can't get away from 
Mildred." She is a large, 
finely proportioned creature, 
and is particularly grand in 
such things as cloaks, furs, etc. 
Her movement is unusually 
good. I have heard a friend 
of hers say — it was a woman — 
that some five years ago, when 
she was at her best, it was a sight 
to remember to see her walk the 
length of the room. She is look- 
ing very well now. I think she 
is getting a little affected. Her 
conversation is beginning to 
take on an intellectual tone. 
She is going in for a salon. She 
now poses as the friend and con- 
fidante of statesmen, like those 
political ladies in the novels of 
Bulwer and Disraeli. I think 
this is a mistake. She is not 
clever. Besides, it is unneces- 
sary. I will guarantee her a 
salon on the strength of the 
qualities she really has. She 



belongs to a class of women 
who are perhaps the most ef- 
fective flirts in existence — wo- 
men who are about one fourth 
or one sixth man. A peculi- 
arity of them is a generosity 
of soul, a good nature, an al- 
most infantile readiness to like 
and be pleased, which contrasts 
strangely with their contralto 
voices and grand size. It is odd 
to hear the language of gentle 
and giddy unwisdom from the 
lips of such superb people. 
Mildred is like this. Her volatile 
benevolence is bestowed upon 
old and young alike. 

Some friends who have lived 
a great deal in France have 
an apartment in the Louisen 
Strasse. One sits about so 
much here in gardens and on 
piazzas, having coffee and lis- 
tening to music, that one is 
rather bored with outdoors and 
is surprised to find how pleasant 



it is to be inclosed by four walls 
and a ceiling. I feel as if I had 
just discovered what nice things 
lamps are. But the drawing- 
room of these friends of mine 
would be a particularly attrac- 
tive one anywhere; it has the 
bright hospitality of good so- 
ciety on the Continent; it is 
easy to fall into and hard to 
keep out of. 

They are Americans, of a 
family which has performed for 
the callow infancy of our giant 
State much honorable service. 
But they live very little in 
America; they prefer France. 
Their daughter, a convent-bred 
young thing, has scarcely even 
seen America. She is elegant, 
hoyden, and charming. She 
asks if you will have tea. You 
say " No," with the decision of 
a man who has little confidence 
in his firmness of purpose. To 
which she answers, " Well, 
don't be cross ! " and, running 



to the sideboard, returns, and 
(with her dog under her arm) 
holds out some bonbons, and 
tells you to take such a one. 
She then resumes some piece of 
superior needlework, at which 
she is evidently clever. She is 
on terms of perfect equality 
with her mother, of whom she 
seems the younger sister, and 
appropriates the larger share of 
the talk, running on all the while 
with pert sallies. Her opinions, 
which are shrewd and sound 
enough, she advances smartly. 
She has an attractive figure. 
But what pleases you most about 
her is that she is so completely 
a product of the Old World and 
has to such a degree the impress 
of the elegant and perfect life 
of good society on the Continent. 
She is the child of the convent, 
and has caught from her little 
playmates the essence of their 
young natures. And yet I be- 
lieve that the success she will 

75 



no doubt have at home (the 
family are on their way to Amer- 
ica) will be for her pretty face 
rather than her fine manners. 
My impression is that the graces 
communicated by the best Eu- 
ropean society are not appre- 
ciated — or are, at any rate, over- 
looked — in the United States 
One might have thought that 
the rarity of these quahties 
would have given distinction to 
the persons possessing them. 
But I beheve this not to be the 
case. Manners, no matter how 
fine, must exist in a sufficient 
mass, must be shared by a class 
sufficiently extensive to be fa- 
miliar to society at large, before 
they will be admired. 

This young girl's especial pet 
is just now a monkey, which I 
usually find sitting on its young 
mistress's lap. It is of a very 
small species ; but its Httle face, 
scarcely larger than a half-dol- 
lar^ is full of thought and ex- 



pression. Its eyes are very 
bright and active. You may 
sit and see it reflect, which it 
does most obviously. The qual- 
ity of its thought seems to be a 
lively melancholy. This is its 
habitual state of mind ; its eyes 
emit continually the gleams of a 
vivacious sadness. It will now 
and then jump from its perch 
and abruptly and in an inconse- 
quent manner seize Frou-Frou's 
tail, which it will as abruptly 
let go, to resume its place and 
pursue, upon Miss Emily'sknee, 
the thread of its reflections. Did 
we, I wonder, sit upon a bough 
a good many millions of years 
ago, thinking such thoughts. 

This monkey, its young mis- 
tress informs me, has lately re- 
covered from an attack of pneu- 
monia. During its illness it was 
fed upon milk punch, which 
was given it in the kitchen 
by the cook. When the mon- 
key got well, the treatment was 

77 



of course discontinued. But 
the monkey liked the treatment, 
and still goes to the kitchen and, 
sitting down before the cook, 
will fetch from the depths of its 
being a most distressing cough. 



78 



I WENT to-day to the Hutfa- 
brik and bought a soft hat 
for ten marks. Everybody here 
goes and gets one, the ladies as 
well as the men. I had my 
choice of a white, a black, a 
brown, or a green one. The 
girl who waited on me, an in- 
telligent young person, gave the 
hat a little knock on top and a 
Jager twist to the rim. The 
hat had in the crown on the 
inside a map of Zwieback and its 
surroundings. I asked the girl 
if the map was her idea. I might 
have known that it was not. It 
was evidently a man's idea. It 
was the thought of some keenly 
attentive person. The girl said 
that it was her young master's 
suggestion. I thought also that 
the notion was characteristically 

79 



German ; it showed a German 
intelligence, thoroughness, and 
sense of the obligation to grasp 
the situation perfectly. An Eng- 
lish hatter would have wished to 
know what authority there was 
for doing such a thing; whether 
it had ever been done by Lin- 
coln & Bennett, or whether some 
royal highness would care to 
have it in his hat. 

Is not some consolation for a 
difficulty in speaking German 
and foreign languages in general 
to be gained from that passage 
in St. Paul which says that some 
are " discerners of spirits " and 
some " have the gift of tongues," 
as if these qualities were contrary 
and inconsistent, or at any rate 
widely diverse ? The late Lord 
Beaconsfield, who was certainly 
a discerner of spirits, was a bad 
linguist ? A compatriot of his 
who met him at the Berlin Con- 
ference said, " There 's one thing 



British about him — that is his 
French." I should think it hkely 
that the silent, Oriental gaze of 
Lord Beaconsfield would not go 
along with that miscellaneous 
activity of mind we commonly 
see in a man who is good at 
learning languages. 

I have accepted an invitation 

to dine with Madame L . 

I have since been asked for the 

same day by Mrs. R . Now 

I should rather go to Mrs. 
R 's. Why might I not pre- 
sent my compliments to Ma- 
dame L , and regret that a 

subsequent engagement pre- 
vents, etc.? 

Like everybody else, I am 
reading the absorbingly inter- 
esting books of Stevenson. I 
find that when I read them I 
am always getting scared, usu- 
ally about nothing. One trick 
he has keeps me in a constant 



state of panic: this is a habit 
of mentioning some trivial inci- 
dent which turns out by and by 
to be of special significance. 
Thus, Mr. Stevenson will say, 
" I observed he put salt on his 
meat." At this the practised 
reader of Mr. Stevenson begins 
to scent danger. A few sen- 
tences further on it is said, " I 
again observed that he put salt 
on his meat; this time, how- 
ever, he added a little pepper." 
At this the reader's hair stands 
on end. 

A few days ago I spent a 
rainy afternoon in the reading- 
room at the Kursaal. One or 
two American papers are taken. 
I am a great reader of Ameri- 
can newspapers, which are per- 
haps the most interesting in the 
world, and which are conducted 
with vast energy and ability. 
But people are at home so used 
to the tone the press has as- 

82 



Slimed there that it does not 
seem to them as pecuHar as it 
sometimes appears to persons 
in this part of the world. I 
have been, for instance, follow- 
ing with great interest the ac- 
counts given in the papers of the 
love affairs of an American cabi- 
net minister. It was ascertained 
that the object of this minister's 
visit to a certain Southern town 
was to obtain in marriage a lady 
living there, who was a widow. 
Accordingly, the leading news- 
papers sent correspondents to 
watch the progress of the court- 
ship. Owing mainly, it seems, 
to the opposition of her rela- 
tives, the lady was not at once 
able to come to a conclusion 
regarding the minister's offer. 
There is evident in the com- 
munications of the correspon- 
dents, written at this juncture, a 
sentiment of vexation, perhaps 
unconscious, at this delay and 
indecision, which indeed was, 



no doubt, a cause of some in- 
convenience to them. Why 
could n't the woman make up 
her mind ? At length, how- 
ever, the lady decided to ac- 
cept the minister. This intel- 
ligence was promptly sent off 
to the newspapers by their 
agents. The representative of 
a great New York daily (I saw 
the paper on the reading-room 
table) sends his paper a column 
of interesting matter upon the 
subject, introduced by a num- 
ber of headlines, over which in 
large letters are the words : 
" The Widow's Last Scruple 
Overcome ! " 

The young reporters who do 
the greater part of the writing 
of our papers are usually not 
educated men, which accounts 
for their fondness for fine words. 
They seem to prefer to the sim- 
ple and absolute word some 
word with a special or figura- 
tive sense, which they think in 

81 



some way finer. A congrega- 
tion is called a " flock." Thus, 
I lately read in one of the New 
York papers the statement that 
a clergyman in Brooklyn had 
had his nose bitten off by a 
member of his " flock." 

There is here, among the 
friends of His Royal High- 
ness, Mr. Alfred Graham, C. M. 
C. M. stands for Charming Man. 
The distinction is in this case 
well deserved, for Alfred Gra- 
ham is one of the best-looking 
and most agreeable of men. 
But it is characteristic of Lon- 
don society that a certain insti- 
tution at the western extremity 
of Pall Mall, and opposite St. 
James's Palace, has the power 
to confer such a degree, and 
does do it. Moreover, by right 
of this degree, Graham is C. M. 
anywhere, and would be so if 
he were not the attractive and 
good-looking person he is. 



It surprises Americans to see 
how very youthful men of ad- 
vanced years often are in Eu- 
rope. It is not uncommon to 
find two or three generations 
of beaux who are to every in- 
tent and purpose contempora- 
ries. There is here at this time 
a handsome young gentleman ; 
his father, Lord R , a bril- 
liant person, also handsome; 
and his grandfather, who is not 
disposed to hide his light under 
a bushel. It puts one in mind 
of the state of society described 
in the Old Testament when 
Lamech, Cush, Phut, and Ra- 
mah were about the world at 
the same time. Cush (in this 

case Lord R ) is at the 

springs at eight in the morning, 
dressed very bravely and flor- 
idly, " bunching " the girls, as 
the phrase is, and walking the 
length of the shaded avenue 
with one or another pretty wo- 
man, full of gay laughter and 

86 



conversation. He is much more 
bent on amusement than either 
of his contemporaries — Phut, 
his son, or Lamech, his father. 

W , who has come for a 

fortnight to this frivolous place, 
is a most interesting person. He 
is able, learned, and virtuous. 
Along with his virtue there is 
also a certain worldly prudence : 
because he is honest he is not 
therefore going to be a fool. 
But he is a passionate prig. He 
has been all his life a professor, 
and has a trait often to be met 
with in teachers : he cannot 
help instructing you. It is true 
that his tone is one of great sim- 
plicity and modesty; but it is 
an enforced simplicity. You 
perceive in him a feeling that it 
is a praiseworthy thing in so 
wise a person to be so catholic 
and unpretentious. I believe 
that he is half conscious of this 
defect, and encourages and cul- 

87 



tivates his simplicity; but he does 
this to Httle purpose ; it has be- 
come a necessity of his nature 
that his way of thinking shall 
override yours. That so great 
a man should be the victim of 
such a fault seems odd. A per- 
son of the highest culture and 
virtue, W — — would, of course, 
wish his conduct to be gov- 
erned by reason. But what has 
his pride of opinion to do with 
the subject he may be discuss- 
ing? What has Truth to do with 
the matter of his being great or 
small ? 

Even when W listens to 

you, it is with an air of rating 
or marking your observations. 
I have noticed this peculiarity 
in a number of professors. In- 
stead of hearing the remarks of 
another as a normal or healthy 
person would do, a professor 
seems to say : " I should rate 
that observation at 7.60"; or, 
" That is an excellent opinion ; 



I should be inclined to put that 
at 9.15." 

But I think that W 's 



chief misfortune is that he does 
not see and take note of other 
people. He knows Sanskrit and 
chemistry, political economy 
and history ; but when he meets 
men and women, his eyes dis- 
chargeblank cartridges at them. 
When a human being is to be 
perceived, he is helpless. 



AN interesting recollection of 
- Switzerland comes back to 
me at this moment. You know 
those bright, black precipices, 
sheer and infinite, whose lower 
chasms the sky fills to the brim 
with pure sunlight; at times, 
when I have got down from the 
diligence and followed at some 
distance walking, I have seen 
those walls laugh with the glee 
of noonday. It was amid such 
fresh scenes I was walking one 
day last month in the Engadine, 
along a road aromatic with 
morning balsam and Alpine 
plant and earth perfumes, when 
I met a young couple rid- 
ing in a carriage and read- 
ing together a book which, 
from their absorbed manner, 
could not have been Baedeker, 

90 



but must have been a novel or 
a book of poems. They were 
neglecting the panorama which 
was slowly unfolding on all sides. 
At each turn of the road some 
new peak would wheel slowly 
into view. One after another 
they came in sight, looking so 
grand, so wise, and so simple. 
" Look at me," said the Lurlie. 
" I 'm the Tinzerhorn," said an- 
other; "look up here where 
my twin turrets blaze in the 
pristine blue." They were so 
close at hand that they all 
seemed to be thrusting their 
faces over the page and to be 
reading the book together. 

There are some hills — moun- 
tains you might call them — to 
the west of the town. Some- 
times I walk in their direction 
about sundown, at which time 
their sides wear some fine col- 
ors. These mountains, a broad 
and well-cultivated plain, a 

91 



flock of sheep met on the road- 
way, a few soHtary kine driven 
by peasants, and here and there 
in the distance a Httle hamlet 
with its tinkhng belfry, and a 
sweet and ample Hght over the 
whole, make up an agreeable 
view. I like the scenery about 
here better than most Euro- 
pean scenery, far better than 
the pampered and petty scenery 
of England. But I miss every- 
where I have been on this con- 
tinent the sentient energy of 
nature in America ; the dexter- 
ous and pliant mind which I 
saw in that country as a boy 
and which I find again as often 
as I return there ; the dazzling 
sword-play with which that in- 
vincible soul rains upon the un- 
derlying evening world the pride 
of its transcendent life. It is 
one of my regrets that my life 
has been passed away from 
that nature. 

I say that what I saw in 

92 



American scenery as a boy I 
find again whenever I return to 
it. During a short visit home 
a few summers ago I went to 
spend the night with some 
friends who Hve near West 
Point. It was upon a day such 
as is common in our semi-tropi- 
cal summers. I had taken a 
late afternoon train from New 
York, and on arriving had but 
ten minutes in which to dress 
for dinner. My host had given 
me a room facing to the south. 
There was an airy and graceful 
combination of hills in view. I 
had Httle leisure to look out, 
but could see them as they 
ran upward in purple waves and 
filled the sky with their irreso- 
lute azure pathway ; there lived 
among them a bird-like flight of 
outHne, which soared, but did 
not depart; which, although in- 
finitely evanescent, did not van- 
ish, but remained. This scene, 
lying in the benign splendors of 



the golden south, and fraught 
with the fairest tropic color, 
bloomed beyond my open win- 
dow. 

A business errand took me 
northward along the Housa- 
tonic. The train follows for 
hours the line of the mountains, 
which run northward in waves, 
broken at long intervals, as if 
swept upward by the winds. I 
found those mountains as I had 
known them befbre. I saw 
them from the car window, pon- 
dering in their lucent bosoms 
memories pure, vast, sedate, 
profound, in unison with the 
dewy stars and the streams that 
rest for a moment in the midst 
of the meadows and seem to 
say, " We also remember." 

The English wonder at this 
German heat. I delight in it. 
It has the same effect on me it 
has on the moths ; it wakes me 
up. But it is not the same thing 

94 



as American hot weather, which 
is more dehghtful because hot- 
ter. In the midst of such un- 
ripe summer weather as is usual 
in Europe, I Hke to think of 
certain villas upon the Ameri- 
can seaboard. One of them 
that I know is built upon a 
point running out into the sea, 
whose blue bulk, in its ascent 
all about you to the horizon, 
occupies almost the whole 
scene. The sun, already some 
hours high and very strong, 
gives promise amidst his white 
vapors of those boiling heats he 
is soon to spread broadcast 
over the land. It is the break- 
fast hour, and the ladies have 
come down in muslins and 
lawns and other such fabrics, 
with which they woo a coolness 
that remains only in the bo- 
som of the ocean mass. It is 
one of those American days in 
which nobody would think of 
doing anything useful, and when 

96 



one is, for the time being, re- 
lieved from all restraints of 
duty or custom. 

American marine scenery, to 
my recollection, has an advan- 
tage over that of this part of the 
world in the clearness of the at- 
mosphere. Another difference 
is that America has the sunrise. 
Those marine sunrises are so 
clear. I remember one I wit- 
nessed when I was last home. 
It was the morning of a cloud- 
less day in midsummer. The 
sun had just risen from the dark, 
fresh body of the ocean, and 
rested on the rim of the sea's 
disk, — the quiet waves con- 
versing with myriad whisperings 
which the shore could not hear. 
To get a better sight of it, I 
went into the bedroom of a lit- 
tle brother. I found the child 
sitting up in bed and looking at 
the new-risen orb, which in that 
aspect he had probably not seen 
more than two or three times 

96 



before. The pair had complete 
possession of the scene, and 
were staring one another out 
of countenance. Tommy was 
much interested in his new 
friend, the sun, and the sun 
looked surprised to see Tommy 
awake and in that position. 

The scene just mentioned is on 
the American sea-coast, below 
Cape Cod. East of Cape Cod 
the weather is much colder. I 
have always called the scenery 
of the Maine coast which you 
see near Bar Harbor hard and 
churlish. But it is very clean. 
There is absolutely no impurity 
possible to those islands, bris- 
tHng with theirsevere vegetation, 
those clear bays and the rills that 
pour into them from the bare 
mountain-sides over a rock and 
sand bottom covered with thin 
soil. The sunsets of this region 
have an arctic permanence. Be- 
yond that lustrous^ crystal sky- 



wall are the reddening ice-fields, 
the desolation and sublimity of 
the polar zone. The stern dyes 
are wrought upon the adaman- 
tine heavens. The sullen crim- 
son stains linger late into the 
evening, their red reflections 
still mixed with the flow of the 
pallid sea waves, and frown upon 
you from the horizon after the 
stars are out and the night above 
has been long in progress. 

But put aside your curtain in 
the morning, and what a smart, 
clean face Nature wears, with- 
out speck or blemish! What a 
brisk,vivacious blue, how strong, 
how bold ! In the bays and es- 
tuaries you see currents that 
have the life of mountain 
brooks. But how active the 
scene is ! What bright force ! 
Why all this haste and bustle, 
you blue seas ? 

When I was last at Bar Har- 
bor I heard there was an in- 



teresting church service con- 
ducted by a bishop at a place 
some miles distant, and on a 
Sunday morning took the steam- 
boat to go to see it. On the 
boat I met a friend, who said 
he would show me the way. 
The bishop's church was one of 
those bUthe little country struc- 
tures whose light and cheerful 
architecture and decorations 
seem to suit the hoHday oc- 
cupations of the worshipers. 
The congregation at such 
places is composed largely of 
women, who, in order to be sure 
of getting in, assemble half an 
hour before the time for service. 
There is in the interval a great 
waving of fans and fluttering 
of ribbons. The congregation, 
in this case, had become alto- 
gether too large for the build- 
ing, and a rustic platform had 
been erected without, where 
people might sit and see and 
hear the service. This plat- 

99 



form was crowded, all the piety 
and good clothes having burst 
its confines; blossoming out 
of the windows like some kind 
of climbing rose-tree. I had 
intended to stop here, but my 
friend suggested that I should 
come with him to the Unita- 
rian service, which was held in 
a school-house half a mile fur- 
ther on, and I did so. The con- 
gregation at the school-house 
was not large. A pale, thin 
man, who looked very good, 
read a sermon, I think about 
autumn. The hymns were 
rather abstract in character. 
The singing was apparently 
led by a young man, who 
was one of the best-looking 
fellows I ever saw. I recog- 
nized him at once. It was 
Apollo, who had been con- 
verted (a little reading and uni- 
versity society would have 
made easy the adoption of the 
liberal deism required by this 



communion), and was assisting 
in this docile manner at a 
Unitarian meeting. It was so 
nice of the god, with his hand- 
some features, tall figure, and 
gentlemanly air, to be raising 
his fine tenor voice at such a 
casual affair as this. I thought 
there was discernible in the 
congregation a latent assertion 
of superior gentility, as if to say, 
" We may not be so fashionable 
as our neighbors at the other 
church, but we should not be 
surprised if we were really bet- 
ter company." At the conclu- 
sion of the service a gentleman 
with a most interesting back — 
it seemed made of whalebone 
— rose and proposed that, as it 
had begun to rain, they should 
all stay and sing hymns. They 
sang for a while, and it was 
charming. Then followed this 
incident. I had noticed that 
the whitewashed walls of the 
school-house were trimmed with 



evergreens. The evergreens 
covered the blackboards. The 
vacation was now over, and the 
school was to open on the fol- 
lowing day. It was necessary, 
therefore, to remove the ever- 
greens. A tall, slight girl, who 
looked very jolly, removing her 
gloves, brandished a pair of long 
and capable hands, and attacked 
the blackboard over the teach- 
er's desk. Others joined, the 
evergreens were soon cleared 
away, and you saw underneath 
the hard New England Mon- 
day, the steep and thorny path of 
knowledge, — grammar, chalk, 
and arithmetic. 



102 



AN American should not 
spend the years of his early 
and middle life in Europe. When 
Americans first come abroad, 
they are very much taken up 
with associations. These are 
often so attractive as to make 
them think they could never 
weary of such things. A day 
or two after my first landing 
in England as a youngster, I 
went with a college friend to 
the Haymarket Theatre. This 
was in the time before the hand 
of the improver had been laid 
upon that charming abode of 
Thespis. It was a dingy white- 
and-gilt old place, stodgy and 
full of drafts, still redolent of 
old comedy and of the days of 
the pit and "half price." We 
sat in the stalls, in the second row 



from the orchestra, and were 
very near the actors. Our com- 
patriot, Mr. Vezin, who was 
playing in "The Man of AirUe," 
did us the great kindness to wink 
at us. I wonder if he was sen- 
sible of the effect upon our young 
minds of his benevolent action. 
In an instant I felt such " a man 
about town." I was one with 
the wits of Queen Anne, with 
CoUey Gibber and Barry and 
Betterton, and the dandies of 
fifty and a hundred years ago. 
We were very happy. 

The next day I went to a levee 
at St. James's Palace. A beef- 
eater in the dress of three centu- 
ries ago stood at a turn of the 
staircase, and, recognizing my 
black coat, motioned me in the 
direction of the e7itree. I was 
vastly pleased by the man's def- 
erential manner. His semblance 
was in some way familiar to me. 
I had never been at court or 
never seen a beefeater. Who 

104 



could it be; why, surely Henry 
VIII. himself — no longer proud 
and vahant as in Holbein's pic- 
ture, but contrite in mind, much 
tutored by the lapse of time and 
the course of events, having fully 
adopted the view of the school 
histories regarding his own ac- 
tions, having acquired also a 
sincere respect for the great 
democratic community of which 
I was a member. I was so 
pleased with the May odors and 
sunshine I had left in the park, 
and with the novelty of the 
brilliant scene indoors, that I 
was ready to fraternize even with 
him. So I said : " Tell me one 
thing. How could you dine 
with a man one day and cut 
off his head the next ? That was 
a habit of you people hard to 
understand." He looked at me 
as if musing upon the super- 
ficiahty of my knowledge of 
human nature. " Well, I dare 
say you are right; really, though, 



such behavior as yours toward 
ladies will not do nowadays. \ 
But it 's a delightful morning." i 

But one cannot live on associa- 
tions. One has but a single life, 
and cannot spend that on tradi- 
tions. Associations and tradi- 
tions soon weary. In England I 
sometimes go and stay at the j 
country house of an old lady who | 
has known pretty much every I 
European celebrity of the cen- 
tury, and who has entertained ; 
many of them under her most 
hospitable roof. She likes to talk ; 
about them. At first it was inter- , 
esting to listen ; but it has come i 
to bore me sadly. The kind old j 
lady sits discoursing all day upon j 
the past of these eminent peo- 
ple — to me, who am altogether 
interested in my own future. 

I begin to want a country 
badly. I have so long breathed 
foreign air as to have begun to 



wonder whether the atmosphere 
of my own land, Hke this, is made 
of oxygen and nitrogen, and 
whether our piece of ground has 
as much of the sun, the moon, 
and the stars as these countries. 
I am aware that my country is 
a great one, but I require in my 
exile an outward and visible sign 
of the fact. It has altogether 
too much moral and future great- 
ness. I wish it had more ships 
of war and bands of music. I 
would give some tons of moral 
greatness and, as for the future, 
would throw in an eon or two 
for one smart drummer-boy. 

A year ago a United States 
ship of war visited the country 
in which the writer holds a dip- 
lomatic appointment. I accom- 
panied my chief on a visit to 
this ship. We were met at the 
dock by a steam launch, com- 
manded by a midshipman, a tall 
youth with delicate and distinct 
features and a complexion that 

107 



suggested ague. He told us he 
was from southern Ohio. The 
chief, who is a poet, said he 
looked like Nelson. A Nelson 
from the shores of the Miami 
seemed a funny notion; but I 
think he did. I was expecting 
nothing and thinking of nothing 
when the launch reached a hole 
in the side of the black object we 
had seen in the offing. We ran 
up the steps to the deck, which 
had been hidden from us by the 
ship's high walls, and which was 
alive with a numerous company 
drawn up in the smartest array; 
the admiral to the front, an ex- 
tremely handsome old man, in 
uniform of navy blue and brass 
buttons and white waistcoat, 
looking very grand and clean 
and bright, and not at all 
pleased. (Perhaps we should 
have been there before. ) There 
was a violent discharge of mus- 
ketry. My senses were shocked 
by the sharp, rattling reports. 

108 



The deck swam blushing with 
ten thousand flowers. In the 
twinkHng of an eye I had been 
taken, after long absence, to a 
portion of the territory of my 
own country. It was her music, 
from the guns of four hundred 
thronging brothers, which tore 
the morning air of that dis- 
tant shore. It was her most 
sweet thunder which reverber- 
ated among those summer seas. 
I looked upward and beheld the 
flag floating supremely in its ele- 
mental blue, 

I never dreamed they could 
make such a noise. The ship's 
company went through their 
manceuvers; and then we were 
shown over the vessel. There 
was something rather flattering 
to ourselves, who were being 
treated so verj' well, in the 
" damn-your-eyes " manner in 
which the officers hissed their 
orders sidewise to the common 
sailors, while we, so to speak, 

109 



strode on superbly over their 
prostrate necks. It seemed very 
professional and quite the right 
thing. The admiral asked us 
to dine with him in his cabin. 
He also asked the captain. It 
was particularly pleasant to see 
that the captain called him 
" Sir," similar instances of just 
authority and decent subordi- 
nation being so rare among our 
countrymen. At dinner the ad- 
miral had several times told the 
colored boy who was waiting at 
the table to fill my glass, which 
the boy was rather slow in doing. 
At length the admiral himself 
filled the glass, saying: "That 
boy is determined you sha'n't 
have anything to drink." The 
moderation and self-restraint of 
this impressed me greatly, when 
I knew that at a word he could 
have hanged the boy from the 
yard-arm. 

The ship's company were 
again drawn up to take leave 

110 



of the minister, who when about 
to take the launch declared to 
the admiral that it was the hap- 
piest day he had spent in Eng- 
land. As for me, I shall not 
attempt to describe the lively 
sentiments I entertained toward 
the grand old admiral at part- 
ing. 



Ill 



I HAVE with me the autobio- 
graphical works of Carlyle, 
edited by Froude, which have 
attracted so much attention. 
There are two periods in the his- 
tory of the world's state of mind 
toward almost every clever and 
successful man. One of these 
is when he is recognized; the 
other is when he is found out. 
At the former period his distinc- 
tions and pecuHar abilities are 
perceived. The world sees what 
he is. He may then be said 
to have been recognized. But 
along with this recognition the 
world is apt to bestow a vague 
and tacit credit for superiority in 
those qualities in which he has 
not been tried. There comes a 
time, however, when his limita- 
tions are understood. The world 

112 



sees what he is not. He may 
then be said to have been found 
out. That man is fortunate who 
is recognized early and found out 
late. 

The latter period was much 
deferred in Carlyle's case, ow- 
ing to the vigor of the impres- 
sion which he made upon us. 
But when the time came for the 
public to be undeceived with 
regard to the character of this 
great and good man, it certainly 
did not judge him fairly. The 
ill nature of these writings of 
Carlyle is not profound. Car- 
lyle had the presumptuous dis- 
content of a spoiled child. It 
was his instinct and habit to 
criticize right and left. And 
the public itself was mainly to 
blame for the spoiling. The fault 
in such cases is mainly the pub- 
lic's, on account of the queer 
exemptions they accord people 
who are able to " sling ink " 
particularly well. Authors are 

8 113 



spoiled because of the weak 
supposition of the pubHc that 
they are as good as they pro- 
fess to be. The public will not 
insist upon remembering that 
great authors are like other peo- 
ple. Has not an author hands, 
organs, dimensions, senses, af- 
fections, passions ? If you prick 
them do they not bleed ? If you 
tickle them do they not laugh ? 
Of course the book reveals 
Carlyle as an egotist. But are 
not nearly all recent autobi- 
ographers egotists ? A number 
of such works have appeared 
during the last ten years, and 
the position of the autobiogra- 
pher has been in nearly every 
case the same, — namely, that 
God did a good thing when he 
made him ; but that he should 
have made anybody else, and 
should have taken an interest 
in the other individual equal to 
that which he manifested in 
t]ie autobiographer, is a propo- 

114 



sition which he cannot bring 
himself for a moment to con- 
sider. Two books in which this 
view is conspicuous are the au- 
tobiographies of John Quincy 
Adams and Miss Harriet 
Martineau. Carlyle is a mild 
egotist beside these writers. 
Adams does not speak of him- 
self as an individual, but as a 
cause which he has espoused. 
Of the two, Miss Martineau is 
the more naive. She is for ar- 
ranging the world entirely from 
her own point of view. For 
instance, she attacked the late 
Lord Lytton because he did 
not carry an ear-trumpet. Lord 
Lytton was deaf and preferred 
not to carry an ear-trumpet. 
Miss Martineau was deaf also, 
and did carry one. She did 
not believe in the immortality 
of the soul, and was very hard 
upon any one who was of a 
contrary opinion. Her heaven, 
had her belief permitted her to 

115 



have one, would have been a 
place where they all sat round 
with ear- trumpets and derided 
the doctrine of the immortality 
of the soul. 

The English here are talk- 
ing a great deal of Glad- 
stone's latest speech. I find I 
miss very much, in reading or 
trying to read his speeches, the 
impressive presence and the rich 
and searching voice of the ora- 
tor. Mr. Gladstone, although 
a great statesman and a man of 
immense force, is unfortunately 
without literary ability. I do 
not mean that he is not a good 
writer. What I mean by liter- 
ary ability — and what I say he 
has not — is a quality of the mind ; 
this quality its possessor has 
whether he writes or not, and 
would have if there were no 
such thing as alphabetical writ- 
ing. It is difficult to say in what 
this quality consists. It cannot 



be said to consist in great intel- 
lectual power or in deep percep- 
tions, for men have had it who 
had not great intellects or deep 
perceptions, and on the other 
hand men of intellect have often 
been without it. But this much 
may be said, that when any man 
has it we find that we are inter- 
ested in what he says, and read- 
ily remember it in association 
with our sense of his character. 
Now Mr. Gladstone has been 
talking all his Hfe, but I can re- 
member at this moment nothing 
he has ever said. I can think of 
plenty of things that Burke or 
Webster or the late Lord Bea- 
consfield has said, but nothing 
of Gladstone's. Mr. Gladstone's 
utterances have never the dis- 
tinction of the true literary man, 
show nowhere the glance of 
genius, or, at any rate, of Hterary 
genius. We were fortunate in 
this respect in our great man 
Lincoln. His case shows how 



independent the gift is of educa- 
tion or preparation, and how en- 
tirely it is an original property 
of the mind of its possessor. 
Throughout his public career, 
from the first, his utterances had 
the distinction and the perfec- 
tion of literary genius. 

Gladstone looks the great 
man he is. I saw him on one 
occasion when it was his duty to 
receive royalty. He wore the 
dress proper for an EngHsh 
minister at such times — an or- 
dinary dress coat and waistcoat, 
with black cloth knee-breeches 
and black silk stockings. I was 
impressed by the contrast be- 
tween his fine visage, with its 
expression of power and habit- 
ual authority, and the black- 
habited and rather slender legs. 
He looked to me like an old 
eagle that I once saw, which a 
bad boy had taken from his 
cage and left on the floor, hav- 
ing first clipped his wings and 



cut off all his tail-feathers, but 
which the urchin could not rob 
of the majesty of his severe eye. 
Might not one say that Mr. 
Gladstone has the usual mind 
raised to the 7i^'' power? And 
what better mental constitution 
could a man of affairs have 
than that? To have the abil- 
ity to get all the knowledge 
that is necessary, and then the 
mental power to judge and use 
that knowledge, what more 
is wanted? What necessity is 
there for that pecuHarity of 
mind which accompanies genius, 
or, at any rate, literary genius? 
It is, no doubt, true that, as a 
rule, men of Mr. Gladstone's 
great powers have this quality. 
But I cannot see that Mr. Glad- 
stone has it. 



119 



I HAVE with me some Irish 
books, or books relating to 
Ireland. One of them is Carle- 
ton's " Traits of the Irish Peas- 
antry." The pathos of these 
stories is of the profoundest 
character. The humor is per- 
haps not equal to the pathos, 
but is still fine. The basis upon 
which these powers are exerted 
is a knowledge — varied and 
singularly exact, so far as 
I am able to judge — of the 
details of Irish life. I have 
never read a more tragic and 
affecting story than " The Geog- 
raphy of an Irish Oath." I know 
nothing of the author, except 
what one may fancy from a 
rugged and friendly face which 
appears in the frontispiece, 
above one of those prodigious 



stocks which were worn fifty 
years ago. 

I am also reading Fronde's 
" EngHsh in Ireland." This was 
written some years ago, and is in 
that tone universal in England 
before the creation of the pres- 
ent Irish parhamentary party — 
that of the wolf up stream to the 
lamb down stream. " The cock- 
roach is always wrong when 
it argues with a chicken," says 
the Haytian proverb, and this 
book is in the manner of the 
chicken. Mr. Froude is a bril- 
liant writer, and has literary 
gifts much superior to those of 
certain English historical writers 
who are very hard upon him. 
It is his misfortune, however, 
that he unites with his power of 
color and fine talents for descrip- 
tion and narration an unsound 
and flighty judgment. He is full 
of attitudes, and is always mak- 
ing faces at the reader. He in- 
dulges himself in these with a 

121 



simplicity which is almost infan- 
tile; his expressions, not only in 
this but in other works, being 
mostly of a ferocious character. 
He is such a Draco. He revels 
to such a degree in accounts of 
floggings, massacres, and execu- 
tions ; one peculiarity of his be- 
ing to mention a succession of 
blood-curdling incidents with a 
naked literalness which causes 
the reader to infer that to a per- 
son of his sanguinary disposition 
these are trifles not worth a 
second thought. I fancy that 
these faults are less harmful 
than they might otherwise be 
because they are so very obvious. 
The plainest reader can see that 
the author has not a good judg- 
ment, is not possessed of an ade- 
quate steering apparatus. So he 
decides that he will enjoy the 
hmber and lucid style, and the 
brilliant gifts of color and nar- 
ration, and will some day look 
up the facts and form bis own 

122 



interpretation of them, which 
very hkely he forgets to do. 
Froude is one of the most emi- 
nent of the fast narrowing circle 
of true Hterary men, Mr. Bret 
Harte is another. Is there, in- 
deed, in the EngUsh-speaking 
world a writer now left who has, 
or has had, so distinct a literary 
genius as Mr. Harte ? 

The English have always be- 
lieved and taught that the Irish 
are a reckless and ne'er-do-well 
race. But the facts of the ca- 
reer of this people in the United 
States have shown that their 
failure to get on in Ireland was 
due to their situation and not to 
their inherent qualities. The 
Irish have held their own in New 
England, where the Jew has 
never been able to get a foot- 
hold. Their inherited land- 
hunger has made them in the 
American cities large holders of 
real estate. They have taken 

123 



a leading position in those em- 
ployments which require the fine 
perceptions of the Celtic races. 
For instance, when I was last in 
New York I noticed that the 
leading dressmakers had Irish 
names — Donovan, Donnelly, 
Kate Reilly, etc. The best 
American athletes have been of 
Irish origin. This seems rather 
singular when we consider the 
food they have had, and that 
their preeminence must rest, a 
century or so back, on potatoes. 
I am told by a friend who has 
made a study of such matters 
that Sullivan has probably never 
had a superior in the prize ring; 
that he has struck the heaviest 
recorded blow, and that the nat- 
ural growth of muscle upon his 
upper arm, which makes it im- 
possible for him to press his arms 
close against his sides, is very 
remarkable — that the like of it 
has not been known before. It 
was once my fortune to meet 

124 



him. I had gone into the saloon 
of a railway hotel in a suburb 
of New York, and had been 
standing there some minutes 
when suddenly the room be- 
came full of people. A tall man, 
who had been drinking, ad- 
vanced to the counter and struck 
his hand upon it, and said to the 
bartender : "I can whip any 
man in the world " — this with 
a string of expletives. The bar- 
tender dodged backward and 
said, " I know you can, sir." I 
did not know who the man was, 
and saw only his back. I could 
see that he had light and nar- 
row hips, and that his shoulders 
were square and ran straight out 
a great distance from his neck. 
But I w^as at once aware that 
a nimbus of distinction sur- 
rounded the figure. A glory 
had lit up the shabby little 
place. This may have been a 
reflection from the eyes of the 
adoring tail of people who had 

125 



followed him into the saloon. 
" Who is that ? " I asked of a 
man standing by. With a look 
of astonishment at my ignorance 
and profanity, he said : " That 's 
John L." But before he had 
answered I knew it was Sulli- 
van. He called for some bot- 
tles of champagne and asked the 
people to drink. He was in a 
very friendly mood and full of 
jests, which the bystanders heard 
with appreciation tempered by 
fear. The joking was indeed 
a little precarious, his familiari- 
ties being a good deal like the 
ruthless play of a tiger, and, 
though evidently well meant, 
rather terrifying. '^ My father," 
he exclaimed, "is no bigger 
than that little fellow there," 
designating the person referred 
to with a string of expressions 
which were anything but pohte. 
The little man, thus struck by 
lightning, looked frightened by 
the greatness suddenly thrust 

126 



upon him, and gratefully re- 
lapsed into the obscurity which 
was his proper element, and from 
which, I dare say, he has never 
since emerged. When you got 
a good view of Sullivan, you 
perceived that his countenance 
was not at all of the conven- 
tional stupid type with which 
the English prints of prize- 
fighters have familiarized us. 
The face showed the lighter 
and brighter Irish characteris- 
tics : it was not a pleasant face, 
but it was clever and intelli- 
gent. Indeed, I am told that 
good and quick judgment has 
been one of the causes of his 
almost invariable success. In 
one fight he had an arm broken ; 
if his antagonist had known 
this, he would have gone in and 
finished him ; but Sullivan used 
tactics which kept him in ig- 
norance of the fact, with the 
result that the man consented 
that the fight should be a drawn 

127 



one. As Sullivan faced you, the 
expanse of his chest was de- 
lightful to behold. He wore 
a low-cut waistcoat, which 
showed a great deal of shirt- 
front — a style of dress in favor 
with men of his profession, for 
the reason, I suppose, that it in- 
creases their apparent breadth ; 
there was a large diamond pin 
inthe middle of the bosom. But 
it was not so much the strength 
of the figure as its lightness and 
elasticity which impressed you ; 
the wide and powerful chest was 
carried so lightly and balanced 
with such easy force upon the 
graceful and slender hips. Peo- 
ple who saw him at the fight 
he had in Mississippi said that 
when he came into the ring at 
sunrise he seemed to step on 
air. What a source of joy such 
a gift must be to one who should 
have the sense and the self-con- 
trol to take care of it and use it 
rightly! The contrast between 

128 



his performances and his char- 
acter was striking; it was curi- 
ous to see a drunken fellow 
boasting about that he could 
whip any man in the world, and 
then have him go and do it. 



129 



CELIA, who was here two 
years ago, was a girl with 
large dark eyes, which had a 
kind of down upon them. I 
might have hesitated about 
speaking of an eye with down 
upon it, but I remember the 
poets have authorized this kind 
of eye, and have classified it 
as "velvet." She wore one 
of those straw hats which the 
young ladies here get at the 
Hutfabrik. These hats are 
trimmed with cherries ; the con- 
trast between the bright cher- 
ries and the velvet eyes pro- 
duced a shock in the mind of 
the looker-on. She was a singu- 
lar girl. When you saw her and 
heard her talk for the first time, 
you might have had a question 
about her, she was so free and 

130 



bold. But you quickly un- 
learned that impression. She 
is of Irish blood, and she has 
the fierce propriety of that race. 
She has little education. But 
she has great native force of 
mind, and, without the least sus- 
picion that she is clever, a wis- 
dom and culture which are the 
result of a passionate study of 
Hfe. 

Since then she has married. 
Like many clever and- able wo- 
men, she chose a nobody, but, I 
believe, a very nice nobody, at 
any rate a nobody that suited 
her. This year she has returned 
with her husband. I met her 
this morning driving. She had 
changed somewhat; but the 
change was not greater than 
might be produced by two years 
— and years of such importance 
in the kaleidoscopic progress of 
the human countenance. The 
cheek was somewhat paler, and 
the vigorous and handsome fea- 



tures somewhat more projected 
and separate. But the face and 
figure had the same easy 
strength; with this, however, 
there was associated a tranquil 
expression of having accom- 
phshed something in the world. 
Beside her was a nurse holding 
in her arms a pompous mass of 
lace and baby clothes, which in- 
wrapped some highly important 
piece of red humanity. 

I have found at the Zwieback 
library a copy of Sterne's Let- 
ters, in which I have come across 
the following sentence. He is 
writing to "Eliza," the young 
lady with whom he fell in love 
in his old age, and he says : " Let 
me give thee one straight rule 
of conduct, that thou hast heard 
from my lips in a thousand forms 
— but I concentre it in one 
word, ' Reverence thyself " 
Readers of Sterne have a feeling 
that he was wanting in this qual- 



ity. But I fancy he has not been 
fairly treated. One should view 
Thackeray's judgment upon this 
writer with some allowance. 
Thackeray, of all the English 
writers of his age, had the 
greatest power of drawing to 
himself the sympathies of men. 
His literary judgments have 
therefore been influential. Yet, 
richly gifted a man as he was, 
he had scarcely more than a fair 
critical judgment. In his critical 
papers he appears at times to 
have been more bent on produc- 
ing an eloquent flourish or writ- 
ing up to the expectations of his 
admirers than upon really ap- 
prehending the authors he criti- 
cized. Such an eminent man 
need not ponder and discrimi- 
nate like an inferior person, but 
might dash ofl" his opinions in 
the course of the morning. 

I have also been reading 
Sterne's Sermons, being curious 
to find how he had preached 

133 



unto others whom many have 
considered to have been himself 
Httle better than a castaway. So 
far as their relation to his own 
character is concerned, I can 
make nothing of them. They are 
much like any other eighteenth- 
century sermons. He says that 
his sermons come from his heart 
and his other works from his 
head. Itis, at any rate, enjoyable 
to sit near this fragrant and sunny 
garden and to trace the charac- 
teristics of a fellow-being who 
wrote, loved, and suffered for 
our amusement a hundred years 
ago. I don't know whether the 
reader's mind ever experiences 
a kind of delight in thinking 
upon the mixture of qualities in 
men and the facts of human des- 
tiny, or finds there are moments 
when he rejoices in the variety 
of things brought about by the 
fall of Adam. Gray's unfinished 
" Ode on the Pleasure arising 
from Vicissitude" has, by the 

134 



way, as a basis some such 
thought as this. 

I hear the band of the regi- 
ment playing in the streets, and 
the soldiers marching. With 
what spirit they play and pound 
the drums ! I wish I were out- 
doors to see them. I am always 
ready to run a square merely to 
see the drum-major. He fixes 
upon the crowd a look of unut- 
terable significance, and moves 
his baton before him from side 
to side with admirable self-re- 
straint. His look seems to beg 
the public not to aggravate by 
their enthusiasm the pent-up 
madness with which his soul is 
filled. Should he once give vent 
to his feelings, he would swing 
that silver ball aloft in corusca- 
tions that would daze you. He 
tries not to do this except on 
great occasions, such, for in- 
stance, as a visit of the Crown 
Prince. I have never seen him 

135 



at such a time, but I know those 
who have, and they tell me that 
only the eye of royalty can look 
steadily upon the spectacle. 

I believe he swings the baton, 
also, when going to battle. On 
the march and before the ranks 
of humanity, is not the poet — 
especially the poet of humor and 
intellect — like this drum-major? 
The sense of his own fate is 
part of the fun. The evil and 
the danger of the day awaken 
his humor and gaiety. Age, dis- 
ease, imperfections, the strange 
medley of human passions and 
fortune, these are the themes that 
fill his ear. As he hears the vari- 
ous and changing strains, does 
he not move forward with boast- 
ful step before his comrades to 
the field of destiny, swinging his 
baton in the sun, backward, for- 
ward, above and to each side, 
performing before the devoted 
ranks his gay tricks and gam- 
bols? 

136 



Gibbon was short and very 
fat, and some one said that when 
he wanted exercise he took trois 
fois le tour de Monsieur Gibbon. 
Literary fame is very wonder- 
ful. Is it not remarkable that 
such a book as " The Decline 
and Fall" should be the produc- 
tion of anything so temporary 
and ephemeral as a man ; that 
there should arise from the little 
heap of corruption and gray 
hairs consigned to the tomb 
such a monument ? 

Every one must have noticed 
how the parlor ornaments, the 
vases and the candlesticks, re- 
main after the departure of fa- 
thers and brothers. A book has 
the same indestructibility. It 
cannot catch cold. This is true 
not only of the works of a Gib- 
bon, a Johnson, or a Sterne : 
but you and I, who can write a 
nice little book, are not to be 
despised; we may perhaps be 
nearly as immortal as an andiron. 

137 



I AM apt to be much per- 
plexed by the way in which, 
here as elsewhere, good people 
and the other kind consort to- 
gether. They are such friends, 
and are so glad to see one 
another. A little while ago I 
went to dine with Michael ; he 
had a great mixture of people. 
Satan came, and, being the 
person of the highest rank, took 
in the hostess. The party con- 
sisted of Gabriel, Raphael, Mo- 
loch, Beelzebub, and Mammon. 
Among the ladies were Re- 
becca, Mary and Martha, Sap- 
pho and Aspasia. There were 
other ladies and gentlemen less 
known than these, but present- 
ing quite as violent contrasts of 
character. Satan excused him- 
self and left early. 



I said, " I suppose your Ex- 
cellency is off to H ? " 

He replied, "That 's what 
you foolish boys think. I 'm 
going to bed." 

After the ladies had left the 
table, Michael called out, " Mo- 
loch, help yourself, and send the 
wine this way." 

I wanted much to get some 
talk with Gabriel, whose ad- 
mirable writings and superior 
character I had long been fa- 
mihar with ; but he was so deep- 
ly engaged in conversation with 
Mammon about things in the 
city that I could not get near 
him. I could only speculate 
what had been the behavior of 
the ladies to one another after 
they had withdrawn. Later I 
saw Mary and Martha, good 
souls with perceptions about 
as, sharp as the big end of an 
egg, and who on that account 
look rather askance at me, in 
the friendliest chat with a cer- 



tain black sheep, a man who 
shall be nameless. On leaving 
the house I fell in with Moloch 
and walked a few steps with 
him. We mentioned Raphael, 
whom he praised warmly, say- 
ing, "A charming man, Raphael 
— charming man ! " 

I found all this very confus- 
ing, but did not think for a 
moment the characters of these 
people similar because the peo- 
ple appeared so much alike. 
On the contrary, I am sure they 
were in reality just as far apart 
as if they had brought their 
wings, crowns, and harps, their 
horns, hoofs, and tails, with 
them. 

I have been reading over 
the books of "Paradise Lost" 
which record the visit of 
Raphael to Eden. That was 
delightful conversation. There 
was no shame or suspicion in 
that society. Nothing could 

140 



have been sweeter, fresher, or 
bolder. The voices of the par- 
ticipants rose in poetic speech 
with the glad freedom of their 
state of perfect innocence. How 
that charming woman listened 
with pleased and apprehen- 
sive countenance to the finest 
thoughts of the angelic guest, 
her hands all the while busy 
with those meaths and kernels 
and dulcet creams! No man 
could have done that. The 
angel must often have recalled 
the incidents of that visit. I 
can fancy him standing on 
some flowering declivity of the 
everlasting fields, his mind oc- 
cupied with the recollections of 
his terrestrial friendship and the 
melancholy vicissitudes of the 
lives of our first parents, ex- 
claiming, as he pored upon 
an amaranth : " How dreadful 
that people should meet with 
such reverses!" — then, as a 
look of gentlemanly shame and 

141 



regret disturbed his features, 
" But what could I do ? " 

The characters of women 
change much with years. Imag- 
ination and feehng are so large 
a part of them that they are 
lial3le in age, through mental pe- 
culiarities, to present a contrast 
to their youth. Their characters, 
when old, almost inevitably un- 
dergo some ridiculous deter- 
minations. It is the sweet Re- 
becca at the well who, as an old 
woman, deceives the husband of 
her youth and robs her first-bom 
of his birth-right. It might be 
interesting to make guesses as to 
the old age of certain heroines 
of history and romance, of whose 
later days we have insufficient 
accounts. Heloise became the 
mother superior of a convent, 
noted for her sour temper and 
hard rule. Laura turned out a 
vegetarian and a practical dress- 
reformer. 



The later career of Helen of 
Troy affords a good subject 
for speculation. One account 
is as follows : On her return 
to Sparta she was generally re- 
ceived, her little adventure hav- 
ing been overlooked. During 
the remainder of her career, her 
life was perfectly correct. But 
shortly after her return she be- 
came impoverished by the col- 
lapse of certain properties, and 
went to live in a neighboring 
city. For some time she was 
in great vogue there, but after 
the first season or two began to 
descend. Second-rate people 
got hold of her for their after- 
noon teas. In this world, of 
course, she remained for some 
time a considerable person. 
Many parties were given "to 
meet Helen of Troy." Men 
who could not have got near 
her in her greater days were 
glad of the chance to give her 
a cup of tea. They thought, as 

143 



they looked at and talked with 
her : Is this Helen of Troy ? 
Is this indeed the very woman ? 

Was this the face that launch'd 

a thousand ships, 
And burnt the topless towers of 

Ilium ? 

But even these men, when they 
had once " done " her, ceased 
to take any interest in her. It 
was at this period of her career 
that she made the acquaintance 
of a certain Myrrhina, a woman 
of somewhat dubious social po- 
sition, with whom by degrees 
she contracted a friendship 
which was of lifelong duration. 
This Myrrhina was at first great- 
ly delighted with her extraor- 
dinary good fortune in having 
attracted the notice of so cele- 
brated a person. The good- 
natured Helen was on her part 
pleased to condescend. This 
state of feeling, however, soon 
wore away, and before many 



months they were quarrehng 
with a cozy equality which left 
nothing to be desired. 

Helen, however, soon began 
to lose caste. People came to 
think they were having too 
much of her. The neglect from 
which she now suffered had the 
effect of making her self-asser- 
tive. She began to divide the 
world into those who did and 
those who did not acknowledge 
the claims of Helen of Troy, 
and got to speaking of her- 
self in the third person. Her 
countenance in time acquired 
an expression of settled discon- 
tent. A really kind-hearted and 
magnanimous creature, she had 
taken on a warlike appearance 
from her being ready at all times 
to take arms in defense of her 
cause. Ten years passed away. 
A battered old wreck, she now 
spent her time in traveling about 
the country, living mostly in 
hotels. By this time she had 

10 145 



got so low that she would talk 
with the reporters. 

I am happy to record, how- 
ever, that toward the close of 
her career her days seemed to 
brighten. The young people 
of that time, whose grandfathers 
had fought for possession of 
her, whose fathers had flirted 
with and neglected her, began 
to think that, if they were to 
know Helen of Troy, they must 
make her acquaintance as soon 
as possible. She was fond of 
young people and took a lively 
interest in their affairs, and 
never tired of answering their 
questions about the great events 
and the great characters of her 
youthful days. Indeed, she 
was almost too obliging in this 
respect. Her memory, if "mar- 
velously retentive," became also 
somewhat elastic. Not only 
was she ready to tell you all 
about the characters of the 
period of the war, but would 

146 



give you also her personal rec- 
ollections of Minos, Neoptol- 
emus, Theseus, and other in- 
dividuals whom any school-boy 
knew she could never possibly 
have been acquainted with. 
The last years of her life were 
happy. 



147 



I MET at the church door this 
morning one of the hand- 
somest and most conventional 
of women, and went to her pew 
with her. She is a spinster of a 
certain age — what is called afine 
woman, with perfect health, a 
good color, an understanding as 
strong as her body; and is, for 
the rest, a bundle of conven- 
tions. She seemed very much 
occupied with the service, and 
knelt devoutly. It was interest- 
ing to watch those nigh twelve 
stone of efflorescent blood and 
tissue, of silk and black lace, of 
conventionality and mundane 
sense, adoring their Creator. 

In church this morning, I 
thought, as I often do, of a sub- 
ject I should like to preach on. 

148 



It has often seemed to me that 
if I were a great man I should 
endeavor to relieve any one who 
sought a favor of me of the ne- 
cessity of using tact in making 
his application — tact being a 
quality by the exercise of which 
he deceives me to his advantage 
and (presumably) to my disad- 
vantage. I should try to look 
behind the mistakes of a blun- 
derer at the real individual and 
business they concealed. As 
a rule, however, tact is three 
fourths of success in that matter. 
I should set forth in my sermon 
how greatly the Christian is to 
be congratulated in not being 
under the necessity to use tact 
in approaching his Creator. 

I rather like the young man 
they have here; he is so com- 
pletely and necessarily a clergy- 
man. He is just as much a 
parson on the street as in church 
— in his face, I mean; his clothes 



have nothing to do with it. I 
find it agreeable to meet with a 
type so distinct, to see a fellow- i 
creature in a place so evidently 
meant for him. But one cannot 
help wondering by what methods 
of breeding and education such ! 
results were produced. What \ 
kind of a boy was he, and es- i 
pecially what kind of a baby ? I ; 
venture to say that he had not \ 
been five minutes in existence I 
before he began with: " Dearly ' 
beloved brethren, the Scripture 
moveth us," etc. i 

I have said a good deal | 
about a variety of women, and, 
at the risk of being sentimental, j 
I shall try to describe a very good I 
one who by chance is passing ' 
through here, and who was yes- j 
terday at the music. I met her \ 
first a summer ago by the shores 
of Lake Geneva : a slender per- 
son, with a gray dress and simple 
girdle — a small, slight figure by | 



a big, blue lake. She was not 
tall, the face and features being 
rather large for the body. The 
light and vigorous carriage de- 
noted energy, and the coun- 
tenance expressed duty, truth, 
and decision of character. I was 
told, and I could well beheve it, 
that she was devoted to works 
of charity, night-schools and the 
like, and that she had done a 
great deal of good, and was the 
best creature in the world. I 
saw her later, in the country in 
England. One can get a pretty 
good notion of people in a three 
days' visit in an English coun- 
try house. That goodness which 
her friends attributed to her was 
always evident. Her figure, car- 
riage, and attitude expressed it. 
Her voice, pitched in a high, 
brave tone (her manner of speak- 
ing, by the way, had a pleasant 
conventionality such as I ima- 
gine the saints themselves might 
find it convenient to use), ex- 

151 



pressed it. I happened while 
at this house to stumble into a 
meeting of some half-dozen 
ladies who were of the neigh- 
borhood, and who were the com- 
mittee of a charitable society to 
which she belonged. Being in- 
terested in the proceedings, I re- 
mained (which perhaps I should 
not have done). The society 
was the Y. F. G. S. (I don't know 
what these initials meant) . There 
were present Miss Anderson, 
Mrs. Thomson, Lady Angela 
White, Miss Longley, and two 
or three others. Miss Longley 
acted as honorary secretary /r*? 
tern. The ladyl met on the shore 
of the lake had prepared a re- 
port which for precision of state- 
ment would serve as a model to 
certain wordy people of my ac- 
quaintance. But could they emu- 
late at the same time the writer's 
tenderness embedded among the 
figures, her winged benevolence 
and vigor and beauty of soul ? 

152 



The document was not less in- 
teresting because its phraseol- 
ogy seemed occasionally to the 
uneducated ear to be of a some- 
what special character. Thus, 
of some recommended action, 
which the writer thought should 
be general rather than local, she 
said^ " It must be diocesan " — 
this with emphasis and a shake 
of the head. 

The person I have here de- 
scribed was extremely attractive. 
But I have seen some good wo- 
men that were positively plain, 
w^ho were pleasant to look at. 
What a relief it is, after a surfeit 
of a certain kind of frivolous so- 
ciety, to come across some good 
person who makes a business of 
notbeingpretty! Yousometimes 
meet with such a woman. She 
is nearly always a lady, and she 
makes you look upon want of 
grace as almost necessary to a 
ladylike character. Her clothes 
hang about her like planks. Her 



appearance announces that she 
is a spinster and that she accepts 
the part; that love and lovers 
are things which she has heard 
of, it is true, but which do not 
in the least pertain to her. Such 
a woman is, at certain times, 
really most acceptable to the 
eyes. 

Now I am on this subject, I 
may as well mention a few good 
men. There is R , a won- 
derfully accomplished person, 
widely and profoundly learned, 
but not in the least a dryasdust. 
He has imagination, and is 
deeply penetrated with the feel- 
ing of the romance of know- 
ledge. Prigs call him a prig, 
but they are mistaken; they 
show how blind they are not to 
see, under a somewhat precise 
manner, his essential simplicity 
and veracity. He has a fair, 
white forehead and beautiful 
eyes. I remember once, when 



staying at his house in the 
country, that a parrot sat upon 
his shoulder during breakfast 
and nibbled at his ear. The 
bird seemed to me to have a 
nice taste in food. 

A quality which some good 
men have is that of perpetual 
youth. There is W— — . He 
has a rash head, and he is of 
all the people I know the read- 
iest to adopt the first or last 
opinion he hears. Fortune has 
compelled him to have to do 
to some extent with affairs, for 
which he has not much capa- 
city. He has thus unwittingly 
become a little of a humbug. 
But for all this, he has a strength 
of youth, a vivacity and elasti- 
city, which spring mainly from 
a sense of honor perfectly in- 
tact. 

In this connection let me men- 
tion a young poet I knew many 
years ago. He was an odd fish, 
not very wise in some respects, 

155 



but was withal a young Paladin 
of virtue and poetry. Some 
thin yellow fuzz, which he ought 
to have cut away, surrounded a 
callow cheek and chin; and 
weak health was evident in the 
pale brow and somewhat skimp 
features. But it was his eye 
that I particularly remember. It 
was so clear and had such a 
shining surface, as if it had 
bathed in those vapors which 
He at evening on the verge of 
the landscape, and knew no 
element less pure than the 
springs of the rain-storm. 

Matthew Arnold was a re- 
markable combination of quali- 
ties — a fine poet and writer, — 
uniting with these gifts as an ar- 
tist a perceiving eye in literary 
matters, in which he had 
scarcely an equal among his 
contemporaries, and a very 
keen eye, too, in matters of hu- 
man nature. He wrote, as a 

156 



young man, a number of beau- 
tiful poems, which will probably 
carry his name to distant 
ages. And then he ceased 
writing poetry, or very nearly 
ceased. He had ready at hand 
this fine instrument of expres- 
sion, but seemed to see nothing 
of the raw material of poetry. 
He appeared to get no more 
poetical impressions. I dare say 
the writing of poetry does de- 
pend upon the physical condi- 
tion of the poet. It is a good 
deal a matter of the circulation. 
That, of course, becomes less 
active when youth is past. Fur- 
thermore, the labors of a pro- 
fession such as Matthew Arnold 
followed may, in his case, have 
consumed that superfluity of vi- 
tality which is a necessary cause 
of poetry. It is also true that 
his mental activities may have 
found an outlet in the exercise 
of his gifts as a critic. But it is 
odd, nevertheless, that he should 

157 



not have continued to have 
poetical thoughts and to express 
them. He had some curious no- 
tions. He implies^ for instance, 
that poetical ideas should be ex- 
pressed only in verse. Of course 
that is true, if you can write 
verse; but what are you to do 
if you can't ? He also strongly 
advised young writers to write 
criticism and not their own po- 
etical thoughts, in this respect re- 
minding one of the fox that had 
lost his own tail and tried to per- 
suade the other foxes to cut off 
theirs. There was a youthful, 
comic charm about Mr. Arnold 
that all his life made him the sub- 
ject of the chaffing pens of his 
admirers. Almost every one who 
knew him thought him the most 
attractive of men. He was im- 
mensely popular in the Surrey 
neighborhood in which he lived. 
This may have been because he 
himself possessed a good share 
of that sweetness which he in- 

158 



culcated. But no, he was at- j 

tractive because he had the gift '< 

of attractiveness ! ; 

There is in the barber shop 
next the post-office a good in- 
stance of German thoroughness 
and devotion to duty. One of 
the men employed in the shop 
is a particularly good hair- 
dresser. The proprietor tells me 
that he believes there is none 
better to be found anywhere. 
He is evidently one of those 
people who in youth have intel- 
ligently laid out their career and 
have afterward faithfully ad- 
hered to their wise intentions. 
He enjoys, as an old man, the 
fruit of his honest habits. The 
principle of his philosophy or 
religion is — if such fine things 
are for barbers — in each case 
to give his best service to the 
occupant of the chair. You 
enter in a hurry and find him 
at work. Presently you begin 

159 



to take out your watch, or to 
move uneasily in your place, or 
by one pantomime or another to 
endeavor to induce him to go 
faster. But he does not quicken 
for one instant the leisurely pace 
with which he moves about the 
head of the patient, or fail to do 
full justice to his little joke, — the 
same you always have, — or re- 
mit a single item of his enlight- 
ened discussion of public affairs. 
He does not look at you. It is 
as difficult to attract his atten- 
tion as it is for an importunate 
and objectionable member to get 
the eye of the Speaker. If he 
does look, it is with a blank stare. 
When, however, he has per- 
formed to the uttermost the last 
rites due the incumbent, and 
has released him, and you ap- 
proach the vacated chair, he 
turns upon you with a surprised 
and hearty " Soh ? " and an ex- 
pression of recognition and wel- 
come. You are friends at once, 

160 



and he proceeds to devote to 
you the same conscientious and 
intelligent attention which he 
has given your predecessor. 

Yesterday morning I took 
with me a translation of Dante's 
" Purgatory " to read in the 
prettily wooded gardens back 
of the Kurhaus. I came upon 
the two young daughters of a 
French family staying here. 
This family, I am told, is very 
ancient; their name is that of 
one of the most interesting char- 
acters in the " Purgatory." I 
asked the girls whether they 
supposed they were related to 
this personage. They said they 
did not know. The indiffer- 
ence which people in Europe 
often show in these matters 
is surprising to Americans, but 
is natural. I should think it 
likely it is the same family; the 
people are from the part of 
France to which the man men- 

161 



tioned by Dante belonged. 
The young ladies were inter- 
ested enough, however, when 
the conversation turned upon 
the gossip of the place, engage- 
ments and the like. It was a 
striking association, that of "the 
mount that rises highest o'er 
the wave," and of the five hun- 
dred years which have elapsed 
since the poet went thither with 
Virgil, with these misses in 
bright print gowns among the 
shades of the Zwieback gardens. 

The town is fast emptying. 
Every day dozens of one's 
friends leave. Going to the 
station to see people off is now 
a part of one's daily occupation. 
The widow left yesterday, and 

by a singular coincidence C 

and R have also disap- 
peared. It is remarkable how 
quickly the place has taken on 
a dull look. And yet I am 
rather loath to go. Last year, 



I remember, I left by the ear- 
ly (seven o'clock) train, and I 
thought the place never looked 
more charming than with the 
fresh light and fragrant air of 
the early morning. I sighed 
as the train moved out of the 
station and I saw receding the 
little clusters of towers and 
houses. Zwieback has always 
treated me well. This year I 
have been particularly happy, 
and yet I doubt if I shall come 
again. My American friends 
nearly all go to Paris, where 
they will spend the next month 
in the shops, the theaters, and 
the cafes. 

I have said that I come to 
Zwieback to see my compa- 
triots. How fortunate I should 
be if I could live in the United 
States, which is a country full 
of Americans ! 

I have been too long away 
from that country. I am de- 

103 



voted to it. Indeed, I may say 
that I care for little else. I am 
fond of its people, I am proud 
of its history, its humor, its 
size, and its climates. Thy dras- 
tic sun, thy silent wildernesses 
whose briers wound my fancy 
as I remember them, thy rail- 
road depots in the lonely clear- 
ings on the edge of the forest, 
where the shunted cars bake 
in the sunlight, are always 
present with me. I am always 
thinking of these things. Would 
it not be well to return and give 
one's self to some such practical 
work as mind and body crave, 
and to spend one's hours of re- 
laxation in friendly society with 
that pure and savage spirit 
which pervades our scenery ? 



164 ^^ 











0°' ,' 



•i* o"!"* 













". -*'^o^ 



^•1°^ - 











^* y ^^ - 



HECKMAN 
BINDERY INC. |§ 

.^ DEC 88 

N. MANCHESTER 
INDIANA 46962 




